Five Servings A Day
by Tiana1
Summary: Set Season 4, a week after Something Blue (and before Hush). Buffy is made to watch Spike while Giles goes out of town… hijinks ensue. Ch. 11 up!
1. Chapter 1: Fair, Shmair

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Title: Five Servings a Day  
  
Author: Tiana  
  
Feedback: I LOVE feedback. I'll love you forever if you send me your comments at: tianabelle@hotmail.com (I'm not just saying that. Honest.)  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to Spike, Buffy or any other BTVS characters. Damn it.  
  
Distribution: Just ask at tianabelle@hotmail.com.   
  
Summary: Set Season 4, a week after Something Blue (and before Hush). Buffy is made to watch Spike while Giles goes out of town… hijinks ensue.   
  
Rating: R  
  
Note: This fic is a response to a challenge posted at Marsters' Mobsters board in celebration of our reaching the milestone of 500 Mobsters. Thanks to Spicy and all the mods for a truly silly challenge that I am trying to wedge into a somewhat canon-based, Buffyverse fic! Bear with discrepancies as I've got an interesting task ahead of me and I tweaked a few things in the timeline of the show.  
  
Here's the challenge:  
  
All five of the following elements must be included in the fic:  
  
1) Spike says "Bloody Hell! You chewed on my toe, you bint!"  
  
2) The theft of a precious lunchbox.  
  
3) Wide use of fruit discussion, including of course, bananas and plums (mentions of other food, like nuts, are encouraged).   
  
4) A parade honoring the person who recovered the lunchbox.   
  
5) At least one really good description of our favorite tongue in action!  
  
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*****  
  
Chapter 1: Fair, Shmair  
  
*****  
  
The silence is broken by a low guttural moan. One eyelid twitches open, revealing part of one baby blue eye. The moan grows louder and the eye drops closed again.  
  
"Shut…the…hell…up." His voice is broken rock, all sharp and rough around the edges.  
  
A snort comes from somewhere near his feet. An achingly familiar voice rings out. "Wha? Who's there? How?"  
  
The moan cuts off and both eyes pop open. "Damn. That was me moaning." Spike contemplates moving, but quickly thinks better of it, since even his toes hurt. "Ow, they really do. Wait. What? Who?" A solid pause and recognition. "Slayer?!?" He turns his head towards the voice at the foot of the bed and sees a tangled mess of blonde hair. And below that rat's nest, the face of a very very confused and bleary-eyed Buffy. The Slayer. In his bed. Oh, and wearing one of his t-shirts. When his gaze rests firmly on her face, Buffy's eyes threaten to bug out of their sockets.  
  
"Spike?!" She looks at the vampire, then down at her shirt and back at him in rapid succession. Buffy then freezes, one hand coming up slowly to hold her head very still. "Oh god. My head." A few seconds later, and much much quieter. "What did we do?"   
  
"Do? What makes you think we diiiii…" Spike looks down at the sheet thrown over his torso. His naked torso. Sitting up on his elbows, he sees that his t-shirt is the only thing Buffy appears to be wearing. "Oh. So we did. I guess?" He runs one hand through his hair, rumpling it further, wrestling with his fuzzy memory for answers. For the moment, the memory is winning and its secrets stay locked up tight.   
  
"I don't know for sur - "  
  
Spike interrupts, "Bloody Hell! You chewed on my toe, you bint!" He stares at the big toe in question, an expression of horror on his face. Buffy whips her head to look and moans.  
  
"Okay, too quick. Way too quick. And eww, no, I did not! And what's a bint?"   
  
"Well, someone did. Look at it! And you were down there, luv." Spike hits the word 'down' with a leer, and Buffy rolls her eyes at him. He ignores her question for his own safety.  
  
"It wasn't me. It was…" Buffy's face scrunches up as she tries to drag a memory out of the fogbank that is her mind. She starts to nibble on her finger until Spike gives her a very pointed look. The finger quickly drops back to her lap. Eyes gone blank, she stares at her hands for a few more moments as Spike watches. Finally, a light goes on.   
  
"AMY!" This time, both hands go to Buffy's head with a moan and the next noise is again, much quieter. "It was Amy."  
  
"Who the hell is Amy and why was she nibbling on my toe?" Spike sits up all the way to inspect his chewed-on digit. "Friend of yours?"  
  
"Not…exactly." Buffy bites back a giggle as the memory floods back. "She's a rat."  
  
Lesson learned, Spike does not yell his response, but Buffy sees the veins pop out in his neck, betraying his reaction. "A rat? A rat named Amy bit my toe?"   
  
"Yeah."   
  
"You think it's funny, don't you?"  
  
"A little." Buffy lifts her index finger up to make a point. "I think I was the one that stopped her, though. I think."  
  
Spike scratches his head. "Okay, so that answers the toe question...sort of. But still there's the big question of why the bleedin' hell you and I are naked in your bed when the last thing I remember is… well, damn. I'm not sure. Being in the basement yesterday?"   
  
Buffy shrugs and gestures at herself. "I'm not naked, though. See? I have this shirt on….which is yours. This is your shirt! And oh my god, why do I keep yelling? My head is going to pop…"  
  
"Stay calm, Slayer. And yeah, stop yelling. Bit of a headache here, eh? We'll figure this out. I'll look around the house, see if anything looks out of sorts…" Spike starts to stand up and is greeted by a squeak.   
  
"Spike – um, naked." Spike looks down at the sheet that is nearly off him. He considers saying 'sod all' to modesty and standing up anyway, but Buffy's pink cheeks somehow affect him.   
  
"Right. You wanna check the place out, then?"   
  
Surprised at the lack of off-color remark, Buffy doesn't answer immediately. And to be altogether truthful, she's a little disappointed he didn't just strut off buck naked. It seems that she has now seen him naked, but it's rather unfair that she can't remember any of it. Spike is still looking at her curiously and she snaps out of the daydream with a much deeper flush on her face. "Oh! Um, yes. I'll go and check." Sidling out of the bed carefully so as not to reveal herself, Buffy stands up, pulling the t-shirt down as much as possible. It just skims over her mid-thighs, leaving her feeling fairly exposed. Modesty preserved, Buffy realizes the entire room is spinning wildly off-axis. She catches herself on the edge of the bed before she loses her balance completely.   
  
Actually, Spike catches her, it turns out. When Buffy lifts her eyes, head swimming, Spike's deep blue eyes are right there and extremely concerned. His hand has ahold of her upper arm, and it is clearly what kept her from falling. She feels his strong grip on her and is strangely tingly in that exact spot. Her voice is nearly a whisper, amazed at how he crossed the entire bed in no time to reach her. "Wow. Fast." Her gaze drops and eyes widen. "And still naked." The slight grin that skitters across her face is unmistakable and Spike's tongue curls up behind his teeth as he meets her look.   
  
Modesty was the last thing on his mind, as it usually is, when he saw the Slayer sway dramatically and head for the ground. In leaping the length of the bed, he left the sheet behind, and now finds himself without a stitch on, kneeling on the edge of the bed with a woozy Slayer nearly in his arms. Interesting.   
  
Instead of squirming out of his grasp, Buffy gives Spike a wry grin. "So, I've figured out at least one thing we did last night" She slowly sits back down on the edge of the bed and Spike keeps a grip on her. Just in case.  
  
"Just the one thing, luv?" Spike's tongue wraps around his front teeth this time, as his eyebrows shoot up suggestively.   
  
Buffy squints at him, but since she has no idea of everything they did, can't really deny it. "Yes, at least one thing."  
  
"And that would be?"  
  
"Definitely drinking. Lots of drinking."  
  
"Figure that out from the raging headache you and I both have?"   
  
"Yes, well, that and the fact that I'm…" Buffy mumbles the rest of her sentence and even Spike can't make it out, not with the jackhammer going in his head.   
  
"What's that, pet?"  
  
Buffy nibbles on her bottom lip, trying to steady herself. "I'm still kinda drunk."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Twenty four hours earlier…  
  
"I'm bored."   
  
"And let me repeat for the tenth time that I still do not care." Buffy shifts a few more boxes before pausing to wipe her face of sweat and scowl at the vampire. If she wasn't tired and irritated, she would have giggled at the pout on Spike's face. For a master vampire, he was positively childlike sometimes. It was uncomfortably endearing.  
  
"I would help move those boxes if you untied me." Spike tries to look convincing.  
  
"You so would not. You would do something stupid, I would have to kick your ass and then tie you back up."  
  
"Promise?" Spike leers at Buffy, who renews her scowl at him, hand on hip.   
  
"A pig, Spike. You are such a pervert."  
  
"Hey, I'm not the one who brought up the bondage fun, luv."  
  
Buffy splutters at him, "I did not bring up 'bondage fun'!!!"  
  
"Oh, but you do think it's fun, eh, pet?" Spike's eyes dance with glee at the red flush filling Buffy's cheeks. Her indignation is ripe and tantalizing to him.  
  
Buffy's mouth opens and closes several times as she gapes at him like a fish out of water. "I cannot talk to you." She turns to the boxes again, hoisting one from a particularly dusty corner of the basement. Putting it down, she turns back to Spike with a glint in her eye, decision made. "This is it for you, huh, Spike?" She strolls towards the vampire tied firmly to a wooden chair. Stopping directly in front of him, she looks down into his blue eyes, reminding herself not to consider how very blue they are. "Big bad master vampire reduced to trading verbal jabs with his mortal enemy instead of actual punches." She leans down to put her face at his level, smiling when she hears the low growl in his throat. "Poor poor Spikey. Scary you're not."  
  
Fighting back the urge to curse at Buffy, Spike drawls out, his voice low and honeyed. "Then why is your heart racing, pet? Just about to beat out of your…chest." Spike lowers his gaze to look at said chest before lifting it back to her hazel eyes. Her scent is intoxicating to Spike, a mixture of sweat and fear and…could that be arousal?  
  
Buffy is startled. She expected a string of creative British curses, but instead he is giving her a dangerous look and his words roll over her in a slow, sultry wave. Unexpectedly, she flashes back to the spell Willow put on them a week ago. The way his hard body felt under her when she was perched on his lap, the softness of his lips against hers, his teeth nipping at her mouth. Mostly, these thoughts had been relegated to her dreams, but now she was stuck with the object of her lust and irritation in her own house. Why did Giles have to leave town and why oh why did Xander's basement have to flood so he couldn't look after the bleached wonder?   
  
Damn, it just was not fair. 


	2. Chapter 2: It's Not Nice To Tease

*****  
  
Chapter 2: It's Not Nice to Tease  
  
*****  
  
Buffy is determined to not let him see the effect he is having on her with his intense look and sharp cheekbones. "What can I say, Spike? I always get a little worked up right before I put a beatdown on a lame ass vampire."   
  
Spike's eyebrows quirk up as he looks from Buffy's hands to his lap. "Is that what the kids today are calling it? A beatdown? I've always called it a hand jo-"  
  
Buffy's hand slaps over Spike's mouth, cutting him off in mid-word. She shakes her head. "Spike, you don't know when to stop, do you? Tied up, chip in your head and you are STILL trying to piss off the Slayer. I can't figure out how you managed to survive this many years. Dumb luck, I guess. Emphasis on dumb."   
  
Spike's eyes darken as he meets her sharp look and Buffy swears that flickers of gold flash there. And then, a wet warmth against her hand.  
  
"EWW! You licked me!" Buffy jumps back, pulling her now wet hand with her.   
  
"Was gonna bite you, but didn't want to end up dusty, luv." Spike smirks at her before licking his lips slowly with his tongue. Slayer may be the most aggravating girl he's ever met in his long existence, but it doesn't make her any less delicious in a very primal sense. He can admit to himself that she is bloody gorgeous. He hasn't forgotten the feel of that tight rear wriggling on his lap, her rather enthusiastic kisses and the heavy petting that followed. Still has to hate her, of course, but he doesn't have to like her to want her.  
  
"So gross. And pathetic. Spike, the vampire who killed two Slayers, has now licked a third. Whoop-di-do." Buffy whirls her finger in the air with mock excitement.   
  
"Don't knock it, luv. This tongue is legendary."   
  
"Yeah, for never knowing when to stay in its mouth and shut up!"   
  
Spike smirks in a most lascivious manner. "Keep telling yourself that, Slayer. We all know the fallback for the slow mind is the clever 'shut up'. Got you rattled."  
  
Buffy is verging on furious at the smug vampire. Closing the distance between them, she swings a leg over and straddles him on the chair, face inches from his. "You think you are God's gift, don't you? I'm sure I will melt into a big girly puddle from being this close to you. So you kept a wackjob vamp happy for a hundred years with your manly charms. Big deal. Oh, but wait. That's not entirely true, either. I believe Angelus had his fair share, too…oh, and every other demon that she took a shine to." Pressing forward, Buffy's breasts nearly graze Spike's t-shirt as she takes his chin in her hand. "So, keep your overrated tongue to yourself and – "  
  
Spike squirms in his ropes, desperate to knock the Slayer off his lap. Bloody bint crawling on him like a piece of playground equipment. Unfortunately, the rubbing only serves to arouse him and he feels his erection grow. Just then, the Slayer shifts on his lap and is made fully aware of his current state. Her stream of insults is interrupted by the hard length pressing against her through her thin workout pants. She hesitates, eyes wide.   
  
" – and, and shut up!" She pushes off Spike's chest, breathing harder than she would like. Spike is also panting slightly as he watches the Slayer try to compose herself.   
  
Buffy's mind races at her reaction to Spike's obvious erection. For her, all that is for her? But he hates her, right? It's just 'cause she was mean to him. He gets off on it. But boy howdy, that vamp is packing…  
  
Deciding that talking to Spike any further is just asking for trouble, Buffy turns away without another word. Neither says a word for the space of minutes. She goes to the last box she moved and reads the side to herself. 'Buffy's things - childhood'. Buffy smiles and mutters to herself. "My lunchbox! Oh man, I loved that lunchbox! It's in here, I remember!" She opens the box and starts rummaging through it casually. And then more frantically. In a few more seconds, items start flying out of the box in all directions.   
  
"Dammit. Where's my lunchbox??" Forgetting that Spike was there for the moment, Buffy jumps when he answers.  
  
"Um, Slayer. Do you mind?"   
  
Aggravated at his continued presence, Buffy spins to snap at him, but is struck dumb before she can speak. Half her girl scout uniform is draped over Spike's head and her favorite teddy bear has landed in his lap. Her previous anger with him is disrupted by her insane need to giggle at the sight before her. She covers her mouth as the laughter erupts and Spike scowls more. He shakes his head violently, dislodging the uniform, and it flutters to the ground. Buffy takes a few steps back towards him, still giggling quietly and reaches for the teddy bear. Her finger grazes Spike's still straining erection and they both jump. Buffy blushes three shades of crimson as she backs quickly towards the box. The muscles in Spike's neck tighten as she moves away from him, leaving him most uncomfortable and painfully constricted. "Uh, sorry." Turning away from his piercing gaze, Buffy returns to the box, kneeling beside it. This time she takes the things out and puts them to the side instead of flinging them willy nilly. A minute later, she sighs and drops back to sit on her heels. She looks around the pile of toys and mementos, her face drawn down into a frown.   
  
Completely pissed at himself for reacting to her and pissed at her for teasing him, Spike sits and stews in his chair. But then, she looks behind her a little and he can see the expression on her face.   
  
Before he can stop himself, he blurts it out. "What's wrong?"  
  
"Nothing. It's just…it's not here. It was here, but it's gone." She sniffs pitifully.   
  
Wishing he was free so he could kick himself, Spike asks, "What's gone, Slayer?"  
  
"My lunchbox. My molded plastic with thermos included Barbie lunchbox!"  
  
"Getting all teary-eyed over a plastic box?" Spike's snark reminds her who she is talking to and Buffy's back tenses quickly.   
  
"No. And didn't I tell you to shut up?" Her voice goes hard as nails again. She wipes her eyes before starting to collect all the toys around her and shoving them back in the box. Suddenly, she stops and stands up, striding over to Spike. "You know what, that's it. I'm so sick and tired of you. I'm done. I'll do this later because I'd rather do it alone than have you within – "  
  
And then, the strangest thing happens. Inexplicable to both of them, Spike interrupts. "Sorry, Slayer." The two words hit the basement like an atomic bomb. Buffy's mouth is still open to continue her tirade and Spike finds himself stunned at his own behavior.   
  
Spike realizes it is no fun when the Slayer gets past the point of aggravation and just storms away. He actually likes having her around to joust with, even if it is just verbal nowadays. If apologizing will get her to go back to picking up boxes while wearing those tight pants, he will apologize ten times in a row. This floor show is too good to pass up. What amazes him is that he thinks he may actually be a little sorry.   
  
"Um. Uh. Well. Good." Buffy's face is scrunched up with confusion as she looks at the vampire, wondering when he is going to take it back or make fun of her for accepting his apology. But he just looks back at her. And he's quiet. For once.   
  
Without another word, Buffy adjusts her top and returns to her work. With this uneasy truce in the air, she decides to continue cleaning out the basement. Her Mom is expecting these boxes sorted and transferred to plastic totes by the end of the weekend when she returns from a gallery trip. The unexpected snafu of Spike-sitting has to be worked around.   
  
A few minutes later, Buffy realizes that he is too damn quiet. Not one sigh or lewd comment. Nothing. She glances over her shoulder quickly to find him watching her. Very closely. In fact, so closely it makes her skin go hot and her heart rate double. She looks away quickly, but the memory of those blue eyes burning into her is not easily forgotten. Suddenly, Spike just sitting there watching her is a little uncomfortable.  
  
"Would you promise not to take off?"  
  
His sensual voice rumbles to her and she realizes too late what a loaded question she offered. "Take off what, luv?" Mentally kicking herself, she decides to ignore his implication.  
  
"I mean, you won't leave the house." She pauses. "If I untie you." Buffy keeps her eyes on her work, afraid to let him see her face. He has a way of reading her inner thoughts that is most unsettling. If he figures out that the feel of his eyes on her body is making her hot, she will never live it down. This way, she can untie him and send him upstairs to watch television so she can work in peace. For some reason, she doesn't think he'll bolt. And if he does, she can just hunt him down as usual. Hopefully, the midday sunlight will be a slight deterrent to him.   
  
Spike studies her back, wondering why the sudden change of heart. He decides to play along in the make nice game. "Promise." His voice is approaching what she would describe as sincere and Buffy finally can't help herself. She turns to look at him. No leer, no sarcastic grin.   
  
She surprises Spike by agreeing more readily than she ever has before. "Okay."   
  
Striding over, Buffy goes around behind Spike to work on the knots she fastened earlier that morning. Unavoidably, her fingers graze his skin repeatedly as she tugs on the rope. Spike's muscles tense and the erection he has been mentally fighting back down renews itself. Does the Slayer have to smell this damn good? Spike wants to tell her that the combination of her jasmine body lotion and the faint scent of her sweat is about to make him come in his pants, but he doesn't think the sentiment will be taken very well.   
  
Finally, Buffy manages to undo the ropes completely and pulls them off Spike. Uncomfortably hard in his jeans, Spike remains seated. Buffy looks at him funny, but then heads back across the basement to her pile of dusty boxes.   
  
Spike tries to distract himself so he can actually stand up without embarrassing himself. He looks away, around the basement, anywhere but at the Slayer. He hears her quiet grunts as she moves the boxes and clenches his jaw and eyes shut. That's worse than looking at her. After a few minutes, Spike calms his body down. Standing up, he stretches his arms above his head, pulling out the kinks in his shoulders from being tied up for the last couple hours.   
  
Buffy catches herself thinking about him again, wondering why he didn't immediately head for the stairs and the 'telly.' Curiosity gets the better of her and she turns to see him stretching, eyes closed. Her breath catches in her throat as she watches the muscles shift under his tight t-shirt and reveal a slice of taut skin when his shirt pulls out of his jeans. Spike's eyes open and she looks down and away quickly.   
  
He saw her checking him out. When did being around the Slayer turn into a sexually charged event? Spike grins to himself. Truth be told, it always was to him. A good fight and a good shag have never been far apart.   
  
Spike saunters over as Buffy makes herself appear busy, cursing at Giles under her breath for foisting this…this Spike on her for the weekend.   
  
She jumps when his next words come from just a few feet away. He leans down to pick up a box, straightening to look at her. "Where do you want it, luv?"  
  
"What?!" Buffy's voice is strangled.   
  
"The box, Slayer. Where do you want the box?" Spike swallows the smirk that wants to come out. Now THIS is fun.   
  
************  
  
Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews! Keep 'em coming! :) Tiana 


	3. Chapter 3: Browsing Her Knickers

*****  
  
Chapter 3: Browsing Her Knickers  
  
*****  
  
Buffy just stares at Spike blankly. He is trying to look serious, but she can see the look in his eyes. A playful, teasing look which makes her blood run cold. Spike's being nice to her. What can this mean? And it's possible, no, not possible, he IS flirting. Or is he just being a pervert? Is it the same thing with him? How can she tell?  
  
"There." Buffy points randomly across the basement.   
  
Spike looks the direction she points and then back at the Slayer, confused.  
  
"There?"  
  
She nods. A lot. "Yes, there. There's the place."   
  
Spike shrugs and carries the box across the room. Buffy's eyes follow his ass as he swaggers over and bends down to set the box on the floor. Why did she not notice his tight butt before? Oh yeah. Duster. He's always wearing that long coat and hiding his… Oh damn. Buffy spins sharply away and faces the boxes, telling herself over and over not to look at him. And definitely not to look at his butt. Off limits. She curses the fact that not all evil vampires are ugly. Why can't Spike be all bat-faced like the Master? She certainly never looked at HIS butt. She sighs. And he's here for another whole day after this one. That thought should fill her with dread, but instead, a very unsettling thrill shoots through her body. So not good. Back to work. Work work work.  
  
"Now what, Slayer?" Spike is still in the spot she left him, giving her a strange look.   
  
Buffy stammers, "Why are you still down here, anyway? Thought you would run off to catch up on Passions or something if I untied you." She fusses with the lid of the nearest box while she waits for his answer.   
  
Spike studies Buffy's body language, trying to figure out how to act with her. And figure out why he cares. "Told you I would help if you untied me, luv."  
  
Buffy spins around, looking for the sarcasm and finding only an unreadable expression on the vampire's face. "Yeah, but you're all evil. You'd say anything to get untied."   
  
Spike can't help it. He really can't. "Like being tied up is so bad, pet. Should try it sometime." He winks at her before she can figure out what to do with that statement. "'Sides, being evil doesn't mean you don't keep promises."   
  
"It does, too!"   
  
"Okay, maybe. But I'm different, eh?" Spike brushes past Buffy, loving the look of utter confusion on her face. And to think he thought this weekend might be boring. Not anymore. The fun may be just beginning now that he's got the Slayer rattled. She's awfully cute when she's confused. "Does this box go to the same place then, Slayer?"  
  
Buffy decides trying to figure out why Spike is acting this way is too much for her at the moment. She returns to her mantra to work, work, work. Spike holds the box in front of him, waiting for direction. His biceps at work make his t-shirt tighten on his arms and Buffy wishes to God she had not noticed.   
  
"Um, yeah. I need to, uh, move those boxes out from under the stairs over here into the light so I can go through them. It's less spider-y." Buffy shudders at the thought.  
  
"Less spider-y? Y'know, for the Slayer, you are squeamish about the weirdest things." Spike doesn't stop, though. He drops his current box in the middle of the floor as Buffy sits cross-legged in front of the first one to start sorting it.   
  
Ten minutes later, Spike has all the boxes out from under the stairs, but Buffy is still flipping through the contents of the very first box. Wiping dirt and cobwebs off his t-shirt and jeans, Spike wanders back over to Buffy, peeking over her shoulder.   
  
Buffy has a stack of pictures in her hands. She flips through them, unaware Spike is watching. Images of a cute little blond girl with pigtails fly by, eyes sparkling. A dark-haired man is with her and Joyce in many of the pictures – at the beach, in front of the Christmas tree. Spike realizes this must be her father. He never paused before to think about why Buffy's father wasn't around. Never cared enough to ask, that's for sure.   
  
"That your Dad, then?" Buffy gasps, dropping all the pictures into her lap.  
  
"Oh my god, Spike. Sneak up much?"   
  
"'Ey, I can't help it if your Slayer skills let you down. Could've had you for a snack by now." He smirks down at her, tip of his tongue caught between his teeth.   
  
"Is that all you ever think about? Biting people, drinking blood?"  
  
Spike puts on his offended look. "Course not. Think about sex a right little bit as well."   
  
Buffy's cheeks flame as she starts gathering up the pictures, deciding if she ignores him, he might go away. It has never worked before, but hey, worth a try.  
  
Spike leans down, picks up a photo that slipped off her lap. Before she can snatch it back, he stands up with it. Round cheeks and straw blond hair done in two braids, eyes green as glass as she grins straight at the camera. Slayer before she knew she was Chosen. Must be like 8 or 9. Still something defiant in the way her chin juts out, but none of that haunted, hunted look that she wears most days now. She is free. Just a girl.  
  
Buffy scrambles to her feet, anxious to grab the photo back. She reaches for it just as Spike hands it to her without a word. Her mouth opens as she prepares to defend herself against some snide comment, but none comes. The silence makes her more uncomfortable than anything he could say. Letting Spike see her as a kid seems like a far too intimate act. Showing a weakness. Almost like he saw her naked. Plus, he saw her Dad. Buffy braces internally for the rudeness that is Spike and again, nothing happens.   
  
"Gonna take a shower." Spike gestures at himself, and Buffy realizes he is a bit of a wreck. Dust in his hair, dirt streaked on his arms and on his face. She nods and he turns to leave the basement.  
  
As Spike heads up the stairs, Buffy realizes she didn't even question him. He'll think she's getting soft. "Stay the hell out of my room while you're up there, Spike! You hear me?"  
  
"Of course I can hear you. You're bloody yelling. Think I'm gonna browse your knickers or somethin'?" Spike ducks his head back down to look at Buffy.   
  
"You could! I mean, you can't, but you would. With the knickers. No browsing my…just no browsing. Or I'll come up there and…" She trails off, realizing nothing she says will be taken the right way. "…and stop you."  
  
"Oh Slayer, don't tease." With a low chuckle, Spike disappears from sight. A few minutes later, Buffy hears the water start to run in the pipes above her head. Naked. Yep, Spike is naked in her house. That sure wasn't part of the deal. She can hear Giles now, telling her the weekend would be easy. Just stay out of his way. Well, she didn't. And now she has a naked vampire in her shower.   
  
Standing under the stream of hot water, Spike looks over the selection of shampoos and soaps in the shower. He mutters to himself, "Gonna smell like a flower or a piece of fruit no matter what I do here." Reaching for the last bottle, he sees it is shampoo. Dove. "Smells like a bird or what?" Flipping the lid, Spike sniffs it and smiles. "Finally, something that just smells like bloody soap." Scrubbing the shampoo into his hair, he lets his mind wander to the tightly wound Slayer two floors below him. Since he's stuck with her for two days, it seemed like a good idea to not get her so pissed she 'accidentally' staked him. But the electricity that popped and crackled between them down in the basement was unexpected. For once, their back-and-forth took a turn away from a knockdown fight into something else. Almost a flirtation? Spike shakes his head. "Bloody crazy. Slayer would rather poke her own eyes out than look at me that way. And me, I'd rather flambé on the back porch." Spike turns back to rinsing his hair out, but he can't help but think that he almost didn't even convince himself that time. Truth is, Slayer is cute. And so damn aggravating. Just not gonna tell her that. Well, except maybe the second thing. Spike grins as he turns to giving his body a good scrub, looking forward to their next round.   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Buffy stares into the box, overwhelmed by the piles of paper and miscellaneous junk. "Can't believe Mom thought I could sort this stuff. Packed by monkeys, I'd swear." Standing up, Buffy brushes off her pants. Suddenly, she hears the water cut off and stares up at the ceiling. She sets her jaw and decides she will not participate in Spike's little jokes this time. Ignore him, treat him like the evil thing he is. And above all, stop thinking of him naked.   
  
With a sigh, Buffy stomps up to the kitchen. Not one more thought about the vampire with stupid hair. She goes out on the back porch, knowing at least that he can't follow her there. Sitting on the back steps, she hatches a plan. A plan to keep Spike away from her so he can't give her those lowdown tinglies.   
  
Slamming back into the house, Buffy heads through the dining room to the foot of the stairs. She starts yelling before she turns the corner, "Spike! Spike, I'm going to – AAGH!" Buffy hits the ground flat on her butt after slamming into Spike as he rounded the corner.   
  
"Damn it, Slayer. Watch where the hell you're going!" Spike rubs his chin where Buffy's head cracked into him. "And stop your bloody screeching. What do you want?"  
  
Buffy feels the heat rise up in her face, only this time it is anger. No, it's fury. How could she have been thinking of him at all? He's evil and not just that, a jerk. She's the one that hit the floor, not him.   
  
Getting to her feet, Buffy jabs Spike in the chest. Yowch, that was hard. "In there, Spike. Now."   
  
Spike looks over his shoulder toward the living room. When he turns back around, Buffy is gone and he hears her footsteps on the basement stairs. "What the hell?" Spike debates whether he should stand right where he is or amble towards the living room. Remember his aversion to being staked through the heart, he turns toward the living room.  
  
Moments later, Buffy storms back in with the ropes in hand. Spike grins, tongue curled behind his front teeth. "Are we playing those bondage games now, luv?" His comment is met by a stony silence as Buffy points toward a chair. The grin slowly fades. "Guess not."  
  
With a heavy sigh, Spike flops down into the chair. "Hands. Give me your hands." Buffy's voice is flat and laced with aggravation. Playtime appears to be over. Spike holds out his hands together.   
  
"Slayer, not sure I'm ready to hold hands yet. Maybe we should get to know each other fir – OW!" The sound of rope zipping across skin is audible. "Planning on leaving any skin behind when you're done there?" Spike scowls up at Buffy, wondering what got her in such a state. She was almost fun to talk to in the basement and now this. If there's anything Spike hates, it's the silent treatment. "Vow of silence, is it? Chastity can't be far behind…" Nothing. He gets no reaction.   
  
His hands secured, Buffy moves to the back of the chair, looping rope around his chest and tying it snugly behind him. "Buffy, luv, I thought we were past this whole tying Spike up thing. What happened?"   
  
Buffy comes back around to stand in front of the neatly trussed vampire. "You happened, Spike. I almost forgot how you are, what you are. I won't do it again. I'm leaving for a little while, and you are not. If you're not right here when I get back, I will hunt you down like a dog. Got it?"   
  
Spike opens his mouth to sass her, but Buffy leans forward, eyes flashing. "Got it?"   
  
"Yeah, whatever. Got nowhere to go anyway, pet. Allergic to sunlight, y'know?" Spike slumps against his bonds, wincing slightly where the rope cuts into his skin. "Do they have to be this tight, Slay –"   
  
When Spike looks up, he is alone in the room. The sound of the kitchen door slamming is the only sign the Slayer was just here.  
  
Out on the porch, Buffy slumps against the backdoor, anger spent. She lightly bangs her head against the door. "God, he smelled good." She pushes herself off the door with a sigh. "Damn it."  
  
*************  
  
Author's Note: Thanks so much for the lovely reviews so far! Glad to hear you are enjoying this fic. :) Tiana 


	4. Chapter 4: All Tied Up and Nowhere to Go

*****  
  
Chapter 4: All Tied Up and Nowhere to Go  
  
*****  
  
"She could have at least left me the remote for the telly." Spike scowls at his tied hands and then the dark television across the room. He then yells, "You could have at least left me the remote for the telly!"   
  
Buffy stomps to the opening into the living room and folds her arms over her chest. "If you yell one more time, I'm gonna…"  
  
"What? Bore me more to death with your empty threats? Too damn late, Slayer." Spike frowns at the extremely tense Slayer. He doesn't understand why she has returned to her extra harsh treatment, but it's a real drag. Poking fun at her is no fun if she doesn't poke back. And he is really bored.   
  
Buffy sighs and starts to turn away. Spike's voice stops her. "Could I have the remote?" His voice is neutral. Not nasty, not pleading. She turns back, expecting him to be tricking her and following up with a snarky comment. Instead, she finds he is just sitting there, looking at her, waiting patiently.   
  
Completely flustered, she grabs the remote from the coffee table and slaps it in his hands. Before anything else weird can happen, she escapes back to the kitchen.   
  
Spike smiles, happy to both have the remote and to completely put the Slayer off kilter. It's a right bit more fun to confuse her than be mean to her, he's come to realize. She blurts out and does the most interesting things when thrown off-guard.   
  
He flips on the TV, looking for something interesting. After checking over his shoulder to make sure Buffy is nowhere to be seen, he settles on a documentary on the life and works of Shakespeare.   
  
Half an hour later, Buffy realizes it is much too quiet in the living room. No complaining, no yelling, no furniture tipping over as he tries to escape his ropes. She tiptoes out of the kitchen and towards the hallway, desperate for Spike not to notice her approach. She hears voices as she approaches and realizes the TV is on, very quietly. Murmurs of clipped, English voices reach her and she furrows her brow. What is he watching?   
  
Her curiosity gets the best of her and she reaches the edge of the entrance to the living room. Her eyes go to the TV and she sees several people in unfamiliar costume, performing a play, speaking in a very formal English. Before she can suss out exactly what he has on, she turns to Spike. And freezes in place.  
  
He's sound asleep. Tied upright in the chair and hand still holding the TV remote, Spike's head is back against the chair, lolled to the side slightly. The only light in the room aside from the faint glow of afternoon light through the closed blinds is the TV, which casts a bluish glow across his features. Cheekbones carved from shadow, lips full and just slightly open. Buffy is unprepared for how this scene makes her feel. She feels guilty, which is really uncomfortable. She knew full well that the daytime is his time for rest, but she tied him upright to a chair. She feels confused, as he appears to have been watching something on PBS. Something educational and cultural, two words she would have never associated with Spike. But the third feeling is the most unsettling by far.   
  
She is completely turned on.   
  
The telltale increase in her heart rate, the creeping of blood into her cheeks, Buffy knows these signs all too well. Not to mention the sudden wetness between her legs. He looks so vulnerable and yes, completely fucking gorgeous, in the dim light. Buffy's inner dominatrix can't help but drool at the hot vampire all tied up and helpless and so very unaware of her inspection.   
  
Spike feels himself stir slightly in his sleep. Pushing aside his dreams of a naked Slayer riding him like a prized stallion, he rouses to a scent in the air. A heady scent, musky and tantalizing. Enough to make his cock twitch in his jeans. Without moving, Spike inhales, trying to locate and identify the scent. Like a ton of bricks, it hits him. It's the Slayer. It's Buffy. And she is highly aroused…and not far away. He keeps his eyes closed as he figures out how to handle this situation. If he wakes up suddenly, she will just dart away, probably make some lame excuse about hearing the TV on or something. Despite the high level of aggravation she gives him on a daily basis, she also makes his hands itch with the effort of not grabbing her tight little body and screwing her into the nearest flat surface. He does not want to make her run away. What he really wants to know is how far she will go. How tempted is she? He never gets to spend one-on-one time with the Slayer, so this weekend could get to be a lot more fun.   
  
Spike makes a show of waking up slowly, and trying to stretch. He winces as his arms don't move, firmly secured to his sides with the ropes. He cracks his neck back and forth, eyes on the TV, anywhere but the Slayer, who is still just behind him. By the scent and sound of her breathing, Spike realizes she must be just outside the room. He wants her to think she got away with the peepshow, see if it makes her bolder. With a loud clatter, Spike 'accidentally' drops the remote control to the floor. He mutters to himself, "Oh, bollocks," before pushing at it with his foot. Pretending to realize it is futile, he slumps into the chair, as much as he can, with a dramatic and defeated sigh.   
  
He hears her hesitate, probably wondering what his reaction will be if she appears so suddenly. Moments later, decision made, she backs up a few steps and then enters the room, making as much noise as possible.  
  
"Spike! Can you – oh, what happened?" Buffy's eyes go from the TV to the remote on the floor and back to Spike's face. He puts on a look somewhere between pissed off and pained.   
  
"Dropped the remote, if you must know, Slayer."   
  
"Oh, is that why you are watching…this?" Buffy gestures at the TV with a grin as a young man makes an impassioned speech to a girl on a balcony.   
  
"It's bloody Shakespeare, Slayer. If you stopped watching soddin' reality shows for five minutes, you might know that."   
  
Buffy is surprised. She knew he was watching the show on purpose, but didn't expect him to defend it to her. Without another word, Buffy moves forward into the room and towards Spike. She tries not to maintain eye contact with him, but finds herself unable to look away as he observes her approach. Finally, she is next to his chair and starts to bend down, hand reaching for the remote. In the process, her face moves down his body, dangerously close to his crotch. Buffy realizes this right as Spike does and grabs the remote quickly, standing back up, cheeks pink. She holds it out to Spike without really looking at him, but he doesn't take it. She looks down to realize she is holding it just out of his reach. "Oh, sorry." Buffy puts it into his hand, fingers just grazing his cool skin. She shivers, the sensation taking off down her spine at lightning speed.   
  
Just then, as she tries to remain calm and show none of this on her face, she notices something. In the half-light of the TV, it's hard to be certain, so she turns on a lamp near the chair. In the brighter light, Buffy frowns and leans down to look more closely at Spike's hands. Which just so happen to by laying near his crotch.   
  
"See something you like, luv?" Spike's voice is so low, Buffy jumps.   
  
"What? No! Not looking at – No!" Buffy's face flames red and Spike grins at her, tongue caught between his teeth. "I was looking at your hands, you perv!"   
  
"Hey, I never mentioned anything else, luv. Seems you had it on your mind, though, eh?"   
  
Buffy shakes her hands, trying to get Spike to stop talking. She frowns again, reaching for his hands, lifting them from his lap more gently than he would have expected. Ever.   
  
"This is awful. Oh god, Spike. I'm really sorry." Buffy's voice is strained.   
  
Spike winces as her fingers lightly touch his wrists. She jerks back at his indication of pain. The ropes at his wrists have cut into his skin, leaving welts and raw skin. Spike had ignored the discomfort. She was so mad when she tied them, he didn't think she would come back and loosen them. It's not like it was the first time he had ever been tied up a bit too tight – Dru didn't always know her own strength. He looks up at the Slayer and her expression is so distraught, he feels a strange compulsion to soothe her.  
  
"'S alright, Slayer. I've had worse done to me."  
  
"Yeah, but I did that. It was careless. I wasn't paying attention. Let me…" Buffy tries to undo the knots without hurting him more, but every tug bites into his skin further. "I'll get a knife…"  
  
"There's a knife in my pocket. Front left." Spike looks at the Slayer when she hears his words, and the reaction is priceless.   
  
Her face goes completely blank and there is a definite hitch in her movements. Buffy chants to herself. I can do that. I can reach into his pocket. It's not all dirty. Just getting the knife. That's all. Not copping a feel. Nope. No feeling.  
  
"Oh, good." Buffy's voice has all the practiced nonchalance she can muster on such short notice. Facing him, she reaches into the pocket on her left. It's not easy with his tight jeans, so she has to force her fingers further in. Screwing up her face, she looks at Spike. "I don't feel a knife. Are you sure?"  
  
Spike smirks. "I'm sure, pet. Also sure it's the other pocket. On my left?" Buffy jerks her hand back out of the wrong pocket like she's been burned.  
  
"Why the hell didn't you tell me?" Buffy is panting, realizing she now has to reach into his other pocket. If she runs off now, he'll know she has a hard time touching him like this.  
  
"Felt pretty good, luv. Didn't want you to stop."  
  
"OH! Oh, you are so - ! I can't – You!"   
  
"Guess eloquence is not one of the Slayer's powers, huh?" Spike's blue eyes dance in amusement as he looks up at the sputtering Slayer. She jabs her hand into his other pocket, yanking the knife free. "Whoa! Watch the delicates there, Slayer."   
  
"I did not touch your – delicates, Spike." Buffy pops the pocketknife and Spike decides to not say what he was going to concerning his 'delicates' and her touching of them.   
  
"Now, now. Watch the knife, Slayer. Don't do anything rash."   
  
"You mean, something near your delicates?" Buffy lowers the knife towards his lap, turning it into the ropes and yanking upwards, cutting through one strand. "Now, hold still."  
  
"Still as the dead, luv. Well, you know…"   
  
Buffy rolls her eyes as she saws through the rest of the ropes. She tries desperately to ignore the tinglies touching him gives her and also avoids eye contact while she is so close to him. Buffy remembers why she was removing the ropes when they are finally all severed. With slightly trembling fingers, she brushes across the harsh pink welts on his wrists, flinching when he does. Under her breath, she whispers, "Sorry, Spike. That wasn't right."   
  
Spike fights his tendency to give her a hard time for this one. "No worries, luv. I'm alright. Looks bad, but it will be all gone in no time. Fast healer. Some fresh blood and I'll be right as rain."  
  
Buffy realizes she has taken Spike's hands into hers to get a good look at his raw wrists. The tinglies are getting more and more prolific. Time to stop with the touching. "Good. I'll - that's good. I'll get you some blood." Back to business, Buffy puts his hands down, looking away from Spike's questioning eyes. "Okay, well, if you stay in here and don't break anything, I'll untie you. For now. Got it?" She puts her hands on her hips, trying to look firm and unbending.   
  
One look into soft, dark eyes and she is undone once again. "Thanks, Slayer." God, it pisses her off when he is nice to her. What the hell is he thinking? Going around behind him, she slashes through the ropes with one vicious upswing of the knife. Spike is suitably impressed as he takes the now folded knife from her hand.   
  
"Uh yeah. Sure. Whatever." Buffy, flustered as ever, turns to leave the room. On her way to the hallway, she asks, "Sure you're okay?" She kicks herself for it, but also holds her breath, waiting for the answer. Why does it matter? He's evil and a pain in the butt and –   
  
"I'm fine, Buffy." - and he called her Buffy. He never does that. Argh.  
  
*************  
  
Author's Note: Thanks for all the great reviews!! Hope you continue to enjoy (and review!) -Tiana 


	5. Chapter 5: The Distraction Plan

*****  
  
Chapter 5: The Distraction Plan  
  
*****  
  
Buffy darts to the kitchen to catch her breath and try to steady her wildly beating heart. She can't go back until she calms down. She is sure Spike will be able to smell her fear, her confusion coming off her in waves. Not to mention the lusty thoughts she thinks are stamped across her blushing cheeks. Eyes closed, Buffy wills herself calmer, blocking visions of Spike tied to that chair, visions of her swinging her leg over to straddle... NO straddling! Sighing, Buffy opens her eyes. Not very effective vision blocking.   
  
With efficiency drawn from years of practice, she collects first aid gear from a drawer in the kitchen and gathers it on the counter. She then retrieves a blood packet from the refrigerator, pours it into a mug and pops it in the microwave. Eyes glazing over as she watches the turntable take the mug around and around, the visions of she and Spike in compromising positions worm their way back into her mind. Thankfully, the microwave beeps, startling her out of her dazed thoughts. Mug in one hand, she balances the other gear in her other and heads for the living room.   
  
As she crosses the hall towards the living room, Buffy tries the hardest she ever has to look nonchalant. She chants to herself 'He's not that hot. Not that hot. He's evil. A vampire. Not that hot. Not that - '  
  
"Hot." The last word slips out as she re-enters the living room to see a vision in black. Spike is sprawled out on the couch, head resting on one bent arm, his whole body laid out in front of her like a buffet. All she can think is that she was wrong: he IS that hot.   
  
At her word, Spike cranes his neck around to meet her eyes. "What's that, luv?"   
  
Buffy stumbles a bit and enters the room. "Oh, this is, uh, hot. So be careful." Nice save. Mentally, Buffy wipes her forehead in relief. She sticks her hand out with the mug of blood. Spike sits up before taking the mug and his fingers graze hers as he does.   
  
"Hm, not that hot, pet." He takes a sip, eyes never leaving Buffy's over the rim of the mug. She puts the first aid equipment down on the coffee table.  
  
"Oh, it's not? Huh. Weird. So, anyway. Oh wait, it's hot enough, though, right? In the 98.6 neighborhood?" Buffy wrings her hands a little, feeling very self-conscious. Her eyes dart to his injured wrists and she flinches. "And your wrists, they're okay?"   
  
"Whoa, Slayer. One question at a time. Temp is just right." He takes another sip, studying her. She has the look of a cornered rabbit, ready to bolt at the slightest sudden move. His sudden move. He weighs the decision for a space of seconds before acting. "My wrists. Think they are healing already, see?" He holds one wrist out as he takes another sip from the mug. Buffy moves closer so she can inspect the wrist. She cradles his wrist in her hand lightly as she leans down. She freezes as she feels Spike's thumb brush her pulse point. An accident, she tells herself. But then, he does it harder, circling the delicate skin covering the blood pounding there, faster and faster. Buffy hesitates. This is not flippant flirting or snappy comebacks. This is erotic. Her heart rate tripling, Buffy glances up. Spike is waiting for her, eyes dark and wanting. The lust there is dense and Buffy gasps, pulling back sharply, breaking the connection. She grabs the roll of gauze and does a quick job of wrapping each wrist, offered by Spike with the same heated look in his eyes.   
  
Work finished, she backs toward the light of the hall...and some sense of safety. Ripping her gaze from Spike as he watches her departure, Buffy tries to remain calm, "Okay, that looks better. I'll be going now and I'll check on you later." With the last word still on the air, Buffy disappears from sight. Spike smiles as he reclines on the couch with his mug in hand. The first move shows him he is not the only player in this game.  
  
***  
  
Two hours later...  
  
"What's that saying? Is it don't drink while cooking? Or cook while drinking? Oh, pffft. What-EVER." Buffy takes another swig from the bottle of wine in her hand. She squints into the pot on the stove in front of her. "Hmm. You look thirsty, too! Some for me." Another gulp. "Some for you!" Buffy lifts the bottle up high, splashing red wine over the roast beef. "Oh poo. Got some on my shirt." She frowns down at her blouse, now speckled with dark red spots. Shrugging, she pulls the shirt off over her head and slings it across the room. Dressed only in a skimpy tank top, Buffy bops over to the fridge, humming to herself as she opens the door. "See, I don't need any stinkin' friends to have fun. Havin' big fun all by myself. Now where did I put the salad?" Frowning, Buffy puts her hands on her hips and stands up. The salad seems to be missing.   
  
She spins around, slightly unsteady. "Whoa. Wine is doing funny things to me. Good thing there are no vamps around. Well, except Spike. But THAT is another story...Ah, there you are!" She spies the salad bowl on the kitchen island and grabs it, walking into the dining room. One place is set at the head of the table, and she sits the large salad bowl nearby. Noise from the television drifts into the room. Buffy shakes her head and goes back to the kitchen. "Ignore him. Ignore him. He is to be ignored." Head slightly buzzing from the wine, Buffy gathers up the rest of her meal - vegetables, more wine, and finally the pot roast. When it is all set up on the table, she smiles at the food. "And they say I can't cook. I can freakin' cook. Lookit this! OH, bread! Forgot the bread." Buffy darts back into the kitchen and returns with sliced French bread and some butter. "There. Perfect."   
  
She takes a seat at the table, spreads a napkin in her lap and serves herself. A few bites in, she sighs. Putting her fork down, she rests her head on her chin, looking towards the mostly dark living room. She can just see the blue glow of the television and the murmur of voices coming from it. Otherwise, nothing. Not a peep from Spike since she basically ran from the room after bringing him some blood. Her big distraction plan was ruined when nobody could come for dinner because of previous plans - not even Giles - so she had thrown herself into cooking the big meal for herself. But it certainly lacked something. Glancing down the empty table, she knows what is missing. "Company." She sips from her glass, having actually poured wine into it rather than chugging straight from the bottle, and thinks. And thinks of a very stupid idea. "Stupid. Stupid. Don't do it, Buffy. It will only end badly. Why are you standing up?" Buffy puts her napkin on the table and stands up. Self-consciously, she straightens her clothes and runs her hands through her hair. "Oh, for crap's sake, don't primp."   
  
Frustrated with herself, Buffy stomps towards the living room, announcing her approach with every step. A few feet from the opening, a low voice greets her. "Slayer. I'd know that delicate stomp anywhere." As she comes fully to the door, Spike cranes his neck towards her and stops talking. Her silhouette is captured in the hall light and he momentarily has his breath taken away, well, as much as he can have something taken away he doesn't have. She is all curves and perfection and Spike catches himself thinking some thoughts that would get him dusty in a heartbeat.   
  
Moments pass and Spike knits his eyebrows together in confusion. Buffy, meanwhile, is trying to will her heart out of her throat so she can talk. She didn't expect seeing Spike to still affect her. She decides the wine has definitely gone to her head. That and the serious lack of male companionship. It's the only reasonable explanation for having lewd thoughts about the undead annoying one. That and the positively indecent way he is again sprawled all over her Mom's couch. She's not sure she'll ever look at that piece of furniture the same again.   
  
"Um, Slayer. You going to stand there all night or...?" Spike bites back a little extra dose of snark, realizing he doesn't want her to turn and stomp away. Though the rear view would be nice... He sits up slightly, raising himself up on his elbow.   
  
"No, of course not." Her voice is slightly strangled, higher than usual. "I have all this extra food. And I know you don't eat, but I can't eat it all. And you sometimes eat. It's all warm now and no one is coming because they all made plans without me and..." Buffy cuts off her ramble before it gets really embarrassing. She flinches, waiting for Spike to say something obnoxious. Nothing. "Soooo...maybe you would like to come sit in there and maybe eat something?" Buffy reels off the last words very quickly, half hoping, well, truth be told, she's not quite sure what she is hoping. In some ways, she is hoping the Earth will open up and swallow her quickly. She resolves that drinking wine is a dumb thing. Makes her much too vulnerable. It's definitely not Spike's lickable cheekbones - it's obviously the Zinfandel talking.  
  
Spike tries to study Buffy, but he can't really see her face with the hall light behind her. He can smell her. A healthy dose of nervousness covering, but not completely, a definite musky scent of arousal. Slayer wants something. Someone. Spike smiles slowly. This weekend could still turn out to be very interesting despite the false start earlier. "Sure, luv." Slowly, Spike unfolds himself from the couch and stands up. "I'd love to eat...with you." Buffy blushes a fierce crimson at the look Spike gives her to go with these words. Who turned up the thermostat? Before Buffy can make a quick escape, Spike swaggers by her, just brushing against her bare arm enough to make her jump. God, his skin is so cool and delicious...  
  
As Buffy turns to watch him walk to the dining room, she finds her eyes dropping lower....and lower. Tracing the sinewy muscles of his back and slipping right onto his tight little... "Anywhere I should sit, Slayer?" Crappity crap, he turns around quickly.   
  
The red in her cheeks burns a bit brighter as she tries to clue in to what Spike said over the thumping of her heart. Sit, where should he sit on that tight little... "Anywhere you like!" Buffy says it a bit too loud with a smile a bit too tight and darts by to re-take her seat at the head of the table. Spike slides into the seat adjacent to hers, his eyes never leaving hers as he does. He smirks at her, watching her cheeks flare pink all over again. Finally, she breaks, looking down at her plate. And then the blank spot in front of Spike.  
  
"Oh! A plate! I'll be right back." Buffy scrambles to her feet, nearly knocking her chair over. Once she reaches the safety of the kitchen, she puts her hands on the edge of the kitchen island and leans there, deep breaths coursing through her. She tries to talk herself through the strange feeling grabbing at her chest. Whispering aloud, she can barely hear herself over the thumping of her heart. "Okay. He's cute. A fact. Annoying. Big fact. Vampire. Fact fact fact. Totally hot? Damn fact-y. Someone I should stay away from. Fact of the year. E-vil. Factapalooza." Buffy glances in the general direction of Spike, seeing him through solid walls in her mind's eye. Her heart rate accelerates. "Do I want him more than I should?" She shakes her head, fighting off the question with the sloshy effects of red wine in her system. Grabbing a plate, she walks back to the dining room, fake smile firmly plastered. Turning the corner, she finds Spike looking right at her as she enters the room. Blue eyes, cool and piercing, go right into her.   
  
The answer to her last questions rises to the front of her mind quickly. Oh, now that's a fact, jack.   
  
With a businesslike efficiency that fools no one in the room, Buffy puts the plate down in front of Spike. "There you go!" Settling back in her chair, Buffy starts to serve more food onto her own plate. Moments later, when she notices no such movement from her companion, she looks up. Spike is sitting still, a bemused smile pointed in her direction. "Uh, what?"  
  
"I'm eating with my hands then, luv?" Eyes twinkling, he gestures to the sides of his plate. No utensils. Buffy pauses, the serving fork from the pot roast in mid-air. Eyebrows knit together as she looks down, double-checking. Definitely no utensils. And the cheeks flood with color once again.   
  
Buffy stammers as Spike reaches over, pulling a piece of meat off the pot roast. Buffy watches his fingers, mesmerized as he opens his mouth and takes a bite. He tosses the last piece into his mouth and then progresses to licking the juices off his fingers, very very slowly. Buffy swallows hard, finding herself unable to turn away. Spike meets her eyes, a smirk on his face still. "Delicious, Slayer."  
  
Her voice is soft, nearly a whisper, "Do you want a fork?"   
  
"I'll get it." Spike pulls himself from his chair and heads toward the kitchen. His voice carries over his shoulder, "Any more wine in here?"   
  
Swallowing, fighting with her composure, Buffy calls back, "Yes, there's another bottle on the counter. Glasses are in the cupboard..." She puts her head in her hands as she hears him opening the door. "Great. More wine. That'll help..."  
  
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Author's Note: Sorry for the long long gap between chapters! I will try to be faster when RL cuts me some slack. Enjoy! -Tiana 


	6. Chapter 6: Just Making Conversation

  
  
Chapter 6: Just Making Conversation  
  
"Good wine, luv." Spike takes another drink from his rapidly emptying glass, looking over the rim at Buffy. A more and more flustered and yes, tipsy, Buffy.  
  
Buffy realizes that drinking while she's nervous, while good at getting rid of the nervousness, is also good at tearing down her inhibitions. Bad, bad scenario with Spike in the house looking at her with those blue eyes.   
  
"Um, yes. Thanks. I...uh, liked the label." She blushes furiously. "Glad it tastes good, too." Buffy turns her face back down to her plate, hoping to hide her embarrassment at blurting out the exact wrong thing. She braces herself for Spike's snarky comment, but it doesn't come. She peeks up at him, only to find him watching her with a look altogether too interested. Fighting the urge to squeak, she ducks back to her food. "So, do you like the food? I know you don't have to eat, like I said before, but I hope it tastes goo -" Buffy wishes she could find the off button on her rambling.   
  
"Very juicy, Slayer. The way I like it." Spike slides another piece of roast into his mouth and a stray drip of juice runs down his chin.   
  
Without thinking, Buffy licks her own lips and nearly has to grab onto the edge of her chair to keep from going after that slow drip. She can see herself dragging her tongue up his chin and feels things get quite a bit warmer in the dining room. Blinking quickly, Buffy tries to snap herself out of the trance, thinking that drinking wine has some kind of weird effect on her. Spike catches the drip with his index finger and then darts his tongue out to lick the juice clean. She thinks he is maybe taking a bit too much time -and pleasure - in the act. Buffy jumps as she realizes she has been watching his every move, her fork dangling a bite halfway to her mouth. In her stupor, she brings the empty fork to her mouth and is startled to find nothing but metal.   
  
"It fell off, Buffy." Spike smiles at her, gesturing at her plate.  
  
She laughs, too fast, too hard. "I knew that, silly!" She retrieves the piece of meat from her plate and eats it so quickly she almost chokes. "More wine?" she asks brightly, pouring herself another full glass before he can answer. Wordless, Spike holds out his almost empty glass and she fills it to the brim.  
  
"Whoa there, pet. You're not trying to get me drunk, now are you? Take advantage of me? Maybe tie me up again?" He winks at a now crimson red Buffy as he takes a large swallow of the wine. He won't admit it, but the wine is making him feel rather artificially warm on the inside.   
  
"No! No, I wouldn't...tie you - ! Besides you don't get drunk very easily...and the point being, I would not. I AM not. I..." Buffy splutters ineffectually for a few more seconds before taking another gulp of wine herself. Her words are starting to slide into each other with every swallow.   
  
"Just teasing, luv. So, what else do you have planned for tonight?" Spike's casual question elicits an immediate response.   
  
"Nothing! I have no plans. No plans!" Buffy tries to look indignant.   
  
"Mean you're going to stay in with me all night, then?" Spike resists the urge to chuckle. The Slayer is so fun to tease. And he's not above admitting that all flushed and heated up in just a skimpy tank top, she is doing a number on him. Her scent, her skin...it's all a bit more intoxicating than the wine.   
  
"That is not what I said. I...I don't know my plans. I didn't...do you always ask this many questions?"   
  
"Just making conversation, Slayer. I'm not trying to make you nervous."  
  
"I am not nervous! I'm annoyed. That's right, annoyed!" Buffy gestures at Spike, but forgets she is holding a glass nearly full of wine. A wide arc of wine splats on the tablecloth. Buffy freezes, looking at the red splotches with horror. And then, she starts to giggle. Spike laughs with her, wiping a few stray drops off his arm.   
  
"Nice one, Buffy." She grins, the wine making her find everything much too funny. All of a sudden, they are two friends having dinner together and drinking a bit too much wine. It's comfortable for the space of seconds. Then, Buffy realizes she is still feeling flushed. And it's not all wine now. She glances at Spike, noticing again how nice his arms are. Tight muscles twitching under the skin. She moves up to his shoulder. The line of his neck is tempting, begging for her mouth. His curls are mussed from laying on the couch and it makes him look so vulnerable. It falls quiet as Buffy looks him over. As her eyes move from his hair to his face, she finds blazing blue eyes meeting hers and she nearly swallows her tongue. He needs to stop doing that.   
  
Spike tries to come up with another sassy comment, but is torn between wiping the table clean of dishes and throwing the Slayer down for a good shagging...and well, doing the exact same thing on the floor. Neither choice seems too safe to act on, though if the doe eyes she is giving him are any indication, he's not all that far off.  
  
Buffy's thoughts race as she feels the wine snake into her limbs, making her feel warm and fuzzy. Especially fuzzy. All she can think is that she needs to get out of the house before she ends up tackling Spike. The proximity of the vamp inside these walls is becoming too much. Yes, she needs to get out and away from him.  
  
"So...wanna go to the Bronze?" Buffy inwardly flinches, wondering when her mouth went on autopilot. Did she just ask Spike out on a date? She was supposed to be escaping him, not taking him somewhere loud and sweaty.   
  
"Bronze? Sure." Buffy's mouth is open, halfway to taking back her invitation, but it's too late. He accepted. Spike acts like she asks him out all the time.   
  
"Because I can't leave you here alone, see. You could...do stuff. And I can't tie you up because of your wrists...and that's all. So...I'll just....go change!" Buffy jumps up from the table and scurries from the room, wishing she could just stop bringing up the 'tying Spike up' thing. She calls over her shoulder, "I'll get the leftovers when I get back!" Making for the stairs, she doesn't wait for a reply, just darts up and into the bathroom. Slamming the door, she leans against it, breathing hard. And not from running. The way she felt sitting near him. How badly she wanted to touch him. And how completely woozy she feels from lotsa wine. Not good. Not even in the same zip code as good. Shower, cold shower, she decides.   
  
While Buffy shivers under an icy spray upstairs, Spike gathers up the plates and takes the leftover food into the kitchen. Unexpected kindnesses always confuse the Slayer. Plus, he feels like he should, for some reason. After a little cleaning up, Spike takes the almost empty wine bottle and his glass into the living room and sprawls on the couch. Glancing at the bottle and remembering the empty bottle he saw in the kitchen, he realizes the Slayer has had quite a bit of wine so far this evening. He grins as he sips. She must be nervous to drink. She rarely does that. Could be very interesting to see what else happens when she's feeling a little less inhibited. Though, of course, he officially can't stand her. Of course. Mortal enemies and all.   
  
Twenty minutes later, the bottle is empty, and Buffy finds Spike looking rather impatient on the couch. He's watching the TV again when he hears her arrival at the living room. The gentle scent of jasmine floats to him, tickling his nose. Always signaling the arrival of the Slayer. "It's 'bout time, pet. I was starting to..." As Spike stands up and turns toward Buffy, his words drift away. She looks amazing and he's afraid it shows on his face. The slackjawed look probably gives him away.  
  
Buffy giggles - but on the inside. She makes a note to herself - Do not drink around Spike. Makes you act all girly. "Starting to what, Spike?" Voice all innocence, Buffy blinks at Spike.  
  
"To wonder what was taking so long. Now I see." He smirks, eyebrows lifting in an appraising manner. Buffy is wearing a little black dress, all laced up in the back and not being shy about showing some skin. A lot of skin.   
  
"Well, it's hot at the Bronze. Usually." Buffy starts to blush under his gaze and wonders if her tipsiness made her choose unwisely. It is hard to be firm on the "Spike is bad and evil" with an unknown number of glasses of wine sloshing around inside. She never feels like she is being too revealing in her clothes unless she is around Spike. Talk about undressing someone with their eyes. He's an expert.   
  
"Hot? Yes, it is hot." Spike licks his bottom lip, pausing. "At the Bronze." The temperature in the room goes up a couple degrees, it seems. Buffy turns away so he can't see the blush grow stronger and goes to the hall closet. She grabs a black scarf-like wrap and gathers it around her shoulders. Turning back, she finds Spike standing there with his duster on, holding the front door open. She comes up to him, willing herself not to sway.  
  
"I just wanted to say...so you don't get the wrong idea. This is not a date."  
  
"Never said it was." The smirk returns.   
  
"Good, 'cause it's not."  
  
"Fine." The smirk grows a little.   
  
"Good."  
  
"Right."  
  
"Well, let's go. Not on a date, of course." Buffy looks everywhere but at Spike.   
  
"Yeah, just friends going to a club."  
  
"Right. Except not friends."  
  
"That's right. So, mortal enemies going dancing."  
  
"Okay. But no dancing."   
  
"Should we just go, Slayer?" Spike sighs, though he is enjoying the little game.   
  
"Yes. I think that's a good idea. It's not a date."  
  
"Luv, just how much wine did you have?"  
  
Buffy walks past without answering. On the sidewalk, she looks around. "So, should we walk? I'm not big with the driving and besides, um, I did have some wine, as you may have noticed."   
  
Spike's voice is softer than usual when he answers. "Yeah, let's walk, luv." Buffy thinks she sees him almost - just almost - offer his arm to her. He then tries to recover his swagger, strutting by her as if he goes clubbing with the Slayer every night. She shakes her head, watching him walk down the sidewalk ahead of her. The way he walks should be a crime. All strut and attitude, leather swishing.  
  
Buffy sighs, feeling it all the way down her body. Between the effects of the wine and the effect of Spike on her body, it's hard to choose which has her the most off-kilter.   
  
Spike stops after he realizes she is not next to him. He turns back to find Buffy standing where he left her, a bit glazed over in the eyes. "Coming, pet?"   
  
"Yes, yes. Coming." Spike smirks and Buffy tries not to react. He is not going to do this to her. Make every word a sexual invitation. Only it is kinda fun. She smiles a little in return before joining him. If anything, it sure as hell won't be boring.  
  
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Author's Note: Okay, still a bit slow on the updates, but I'm working on it. Had to take a few days off for post-Angel blues. Now I'm back! Reviews make me grin, so help me out. :) -Tiana 


	7. Chapter 7: Lick, Drink, Suck

  
  
Chapter 7: Lick, Drink, SuckThey walk in silence for a few blocks. At least, there is no audible talking. Buffy's inner voices are screeching at her in confusion. When this day started and she got stuck with Spike, she never in a million years would have pictured herself walking down the street with him, wearing one of her most minimal dresses, on their way to the Bronze. And she probably would not have had quite so many glasses of wine. Buffy giggles quietly to herself at the absurdity of it all.  
  
"Care to share, luv?" She catches herself giggling and bites her lip before looking over at Spike. He is watching her, eyebrow arched in the most maddeningly sexy way.   
  
"Just thinking that this is a very very bad idea."  
  
"Works for me. But then again, I am very very bad." He turns away and keeps walking, a smirk playing across his mouth.   
  
Buffy almost immediately giggles again. Spike is funny. She kind of ignores that when she hasn't had a bit of wine. Okay, more than a bit. "Yeah. Good point."   
  
Spike grins wider, wondering when he started to enjoy the Slayer's company. 'Cause he definitely is. Maybe it's the wine. At least a little. Some of it is probably that she is not punching him. Though, truth be told, he kind of enjoys that, too. Suddenly, Spike asks, "And by this, you mean?"   
  
"Uh?" Buffy knits her eyebrows together in confusion.   
  
Spike pauses and Buffy does the same. He turns to her, but she can't make out his features in the shadows. "You said this was a bad idea. What is this?" She sees his head cock to the side.   
  
Buffy just stares at him, wondering what exactly to say. "Um, this?"  
  
"Yes, this." Spike crosses his arms. He's going to make her say something - truth or not.   
  
Buffy braces herself, realizing the wine is making her impulsive. She hopes she won't regret just answering the question instead of dodging it. "Going with you to the Bronze is this."   
  
"Ah." Spike starts walking again, satisfied. Good to know the Slayer is right about where he is. Confused, turned on, maybe a little apprehensive. But just going with it for the time being. He can't hide that her scent and skin make him horny as hell. Spike has never been one to over-analyze and he's not starting now with the gorgeous Slayer next to him. And again, not punching him.   
  
Buffy considers calling him on his short response, but decides she got off easy for the time being. Better to just walk. Less talk.  
  
The silence that falls back over them is of the more comfortable, if more sexually charged, variety. Buffy catches herself stealing glances at Spike. His strong profile, cheekbones begging to be traced. With her tongue. Buffy's eyes widen. Tongue thoughts. Not good. Not in the least little bit good. She rips her eyes away from him and swallows, hard. She wishes the foggy, warm feeling the wine has given her would let up a little, but being next to Spike is only amplifying it. Her blood is rushing through her so fast, pounding in her ears so loudly, she feels sure he can hear it. He's close enough.  
  
Spike lets his arm brush hers every few steps. Just reminding himself that Buffy is walking next to him. Willingly. And not quite half-dressed. He thought it would be fun to flirt with her this weekend since she is so damned uptight. With the chip in his head, it's the closest he can get to fighting with her. The closest he can get to making her blood rise, her heart hammer in her chest. Didn't quite bargain on feeling all warm and lusty towards the Slayer in return.   
  
By the time this unlikely pair reaches the Bronze, both are feeling a bit off-kilter. Lust and wine are a dangerous combination.  
  
The music is throbbing inside the Bronze and they hear it as they approach. Buffy realizes that this could be the dumbest thing she has ever done. To bring Spike with her to the Bronze? With all the bumping and the grinding? Not that she plans to dance with him. She'll dance with other people. And he'll watch. She feels a surge go through her at the thought of him watching her move on the dance floor. That's not good, either. She returns to her earlier position: this is a bad bad idea.  
  
Spike falls back a step to watch her. He can see her go tense, the muscles in her neck and shoulders tighten. Nervous? He wonders if that's it. For the first time, he starts to really think about what is going to happen in the Bronze. The two of them, mortal enemies, are going to dance? Or maybe he can watch her dance? Or what else? Drink some more? Spike grins again. Maybe all of the above. Yeah, this is going to be fun. A great idea.  
  
He reaches around Buffy and she almost jumps back into him. Grabbing the door handle, he pulls the door open and gestures inwards. The music pours over them, pounding and loud. Buffy takes a deep breath and goes into the club. A quick look around reveals it's pretty crowded, as expected. The music is hard rock and she can immediately feel it in her chest, vibrating. The heat is palpable. Buffy feels a presence very close behind her and she jumps.   
  
"Change your mind, luv?" The voice is very very close to her ear and it makes Buffy take a quick step forward. A light touch on her back - right on her bare skin - makes her take a sharp intake of breath. Spike's cool fingers are welcome in the oven of the Bronze. No, wait. Not welcome. Spike's fingers are not to be welcomed! Buffy moves again, towards the bar. More drink. She decides she is getting way too sober for this little outing. The booze makes it okay to have Spike turn her on. So, more booze.   
  
She throws a glance over her shoulder casually, acting like Spike's hand on her did not send shocks through her body. Meanwhile, Spike realizes his fingers are tingling where they touched her bare skin. He is so going to get staked if he doesn't take it down a notch. A drink would be good here.  
  
"Drink?"   
  
Buffy nods instantly and again, it seems they are in sync with each other. There is no way the two of them should be here together like this, but neither one seems quite willing to burst that bubble just yet. A bit of fun wouldn't kill either of them. Well, hopefully not. They move towards the bar. Buffy reaches it first and leans against it near the end, looking at all the bottles lined up along the mirror. Just then, somebody bumps Spike and pushes him right into her.   
  
"Oof!"  
  
"Watch it, mate!" Spike turns away from the drunken boy that bumped him and finds he is squishing the Slayer. He backs up, but does not break contact. "You alright, pet?"   
  
Buffy tries to remain calm, but somehow, Spike being nearly mashed against her in this environment is more than unsettling. It's taken her breath away. She nods, facing away from him. Full body contact is so not the way to good behavior in the Bronze. In fact, it is quite the opposite. Buffy makes a mental note - in the future, avoid the full body contact with Spike. Check. No matter how hard the full body may be. She slips away and perches on the empty bar stool next to her, acting like she is not having trouble breathing. He is too close. Too close.  
  
Spike takes a nice deep breath himself, a habit he has never broken. He leans against the bar, taking in the Slayer and the liquor selection. "So, what's your pleasure, Slayer?"   
  
Buffy turns three shades of red at the question. "Well, that's -! Spike! I'm not going to tell you my..." Her voice drops to a forceful, scandalized whisper. "...pleasure!" Spike laughs. Hard. Buffy crosses her arms, squinting at him. "What's so damn funny?"   
  
"Was asking what you wanted to drink, but if you want to do some sharing of another kind, I could be up for it." His eyebrows jump on the word up and Buffy shoots a glance down at the front of Spike's pants before she can stop herself. Though she quickly covers by turning to look at the many bottles, he saw her. He licks his lips, studying the smooth tanned skin of her shoulders. Imagining the taste of her there. A bit salty. Smooth, hot. When Buffy turns back to him, she finds a look in Spike's eyes so predator-like she gasps.   
  
Quickly recovering by looking away again, Buffy mumbles, "I don't know. Don't drink that much. What do you think?"   
  
Glancing from the Slayer to the bar and back again, Spike nods. "Tequila. Definitely tequila." The smile on his face is full of naughtiness.  
  
"Oh, like in margaritas? Those are yum -"  
  
"No, luv. Just tequila. You might have noticed this is not exactly the cute little umbrellas in frosty drinks kind of place. Straight up tequila. Not scared, are ya?" His eyes dance, a dare in them. He knows Buffy never backs down from a dare, from a challenge. Especially not from him. One of the things he...likes about her? Spike didn't know he liked things about her until tonight. Or, at least, he didn't admit it.   
  
"Straight up?" Buffy flinches. Every word she says sounds dirty.  
  
Spike grins. "Yeah, straight up. A shot. Ever done tequila shots?"   
  
Buffy considers pretending she has, but knows it will just end badly. She imagines tequila coming out her nose 'cause she did it wrong can't feel very good. She shakes her head.   
  
"No problem, I'll show you." Buffy realizes she never actually agreed to this shot business. That doesn't seem to deter Spike in the least. Moments later, Spike has the bartender drop off all the fixins'. She looks at the various items on the bar.   
  
"So, are we drinking or eating? What's all this?" Buffy gestures at the gathered items.   
  
"Hold your horses, luv, and I'll show you. Now, here's the thing." Spike is very close to her, so his low voice can be heard over the musical din. Somehow, over in this corner of the bar, the crowd of people fades away and all she hears is the deep rumble of his words. Her body vibrates in time with his speech. "Tequila does not taste good. Makes you feel good, warms you right down to your -, uh, but the taste... that's where the salt and the lime come in." Buffy gives him a look, realizing what he almost said. As he is talking, Spike pours a full shot from the bottle of Jose Cuervo on the bar.   
  
"First, the salt." Buffy feels her mouth fall open slightly as Spike licks the back of his right hand, between the thumb and forefinger. He does it very slowly, his tongue sliding across his skin so slow she can almost hear it. Spike picks up the salt shaker and gives a few shakes to his wet skin. Buffy jumps when he speaks again, trying not to imagine that tongue doing...other things. "Then, you get the lime ready." Spike picks up a lime wedge between his thumb and forefinger with the same hand. "Now, I'm going to do it fast, luv, but it is lick, drink, suck. Got it?"  
  
"Got what!?" Buffy comes out of her trance. "Lick, drink, suck? I thought we were talking about drinking tequila!"   
  
Spike bites his bottom lip, enjoying the rosy spots high on her cheeks. "I was, pet. Don't know what you were thinking about. Like this, see?" Spike darts his tongue back out, licking up the salt, throws the shot back with his left hand and immediately sucks on the lime, moaning in pleasure. Buffy finds herself thinking it must have just gotten much hotter in here. She fights the urge to fan herself as Spike finishes sucking the lime and puts it on the bar. Slowly and carefully, he licks the stray juice from his fingertips. "Did you follow what I did, Buffy?"  
  
"Yeah. I followed. Lick, drink, suck." A twinkle of mischief sparks in Buffy's eyes and Spike feels a stirring in his pants instantly. The way she drew out the word suck may have something to do with it. "My turn, right?" Buffy grins. Her inner voices have been struck dumb by the display she just witnessed.  
  
"Of course." Spike pours tequila in the shot glass in front of her. "Now, what comes first?"   
  
"That would be the licking." Spike bites back a groan as Buffy's pink wet tongue travels up her hand. She shakes the salt on immediately. He holds out a lime wedge, which she tucks into her hand. "Okay, so it's lick, drink, suck. That's the order, right?" Spike is starting to regret mentioning those three words to her. He's also starting to think if she says them in that order again, he is going to come in his pants. Or try to bite her since they remind him a little too much of that intimate act. Either way, not good. Though only the second one will get him dusty.   
  
"You got it, luv. Remember, throw the shot way back. Don't taste it."   
  
"Okey dokey." In rapid succession, Buffy licks the salt from her hand, drinks the shot and sucks on the lime. She slams the glass down on the bar as Spike looks on, duly impressed.   
  
"Wow, Slayer. You're a quick study."   
  
Buffy wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, feeling the surge of warmth move down her throat into her chest. It's a good feeling and she decides she would like to have more of it. Very soon. What's the worst that could happen? If Spike tries something, she's still the Slayer. A bit of tequila won't change that. But, first things first. Must have equal footing and all. And see Spike's tongue again.  
  
She tips the bottle, filling the glass in front of Spike. The smile that spreads slowly across her face leaves Spike squirming in his tight pants. She pushes the glass towards him, biting her bottom lip and wondering when she got so bold and lacking in judgment.   
  
"Your turn."

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Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews, everyone! So glad you are enjoying this fic! Keep those comments comin'! -Tiana


	8. Chapter 8: Go Get It

  
  
Chapter 8: Go Get It  
  
Several shots later, Buffy starts to wonder if she is going to be able to stay on her barstool much longer. Since it has taken to tilting wildly without warning. Spike is starting to get blond and blurry, so she holds up a hand. "Whoa."  
  
"Whoa?" Spike stops with the bottle in the air, tipping towards her glass. His eyebrows are up. At least she thinks they are. Blurry.  
  
"Yes, whoa. I'm done. Crispy. Insert fork."  
  
"Insert fork?" Spike puts the bottle down and smirks at her. The way he says fork is not at all proper. Stupid English accent, thinks Buffy.   
  
"Wait, no. No inserting. Just stop. I'm done."   
  
"You mentioned that, luv. Meaning you are drunk?" Spike quickly takes another shot and Buffy stops talking, leaning closer to watch him carefully. When she realizes she is about to sway right into him, she jerks back quickly. And doesn't fall. Spike's hand on her arm holds her there and Buffy feels her whole body twitch at his firm touch on her bare skin.   
  
She stops moving and lifts her eyes to his slowly. "Thanks." A spark passes between them, making both very still.  
  
"No problem, pet. Didn't know you couldn't hold your liquor." Spike's voice lacks its usual snark as he fights the urge to yank her off the stool and into his lap.   
  
"Can too hold it. See, I'm holding it right now." Buffy picks up the bottle of tequila and waves it at him, desperate to both strengthen and break the electricity snapping between them, and torn about which she wants more.   
  
Spike smiles and lets go of her arm. Buffy sighs and pours herself another shot. "Thought you were done, Slayer."   
  
"I'll need one more before." With a newly acquired ease, Buffy licks the salt, takes the shot and sucks on the lemon while Spike studies her, brow furrowed.  
  
"Before what?"   
  
Buffy pops off the stool and puts her hand out. "Before we dance."   
  
"Before we what now?" Spike remains seated, mouth slightly agape. "Slayer, I thought we agreed. No dancing, not a date, remember?" He tries to scowl a little, but truthfully, his hands are positively twitching to grab ahold of her tight little body. The gleam in her eyes is full of a mischief never directed at him before.   
  
"Yeah, but I'm bored with drinking and I like dancing and you're here. And you never dance. So, let's. No one will see us and blow our cover. What could happen?" The innocence in her eyes is only partly feigned. Buffy definitely worries about what could happen, but one more shot and she is going to be in Spike's lap. Between certain badness and maybe temptation, she'll take the temptation. And she does like to dance.   
  
Spike cocks his head, picking up the slow and sensual beat of the song. And the singer is pouring it on, thick like honey. Yeah, he could dance with the Slayer to this. He smirks at her and stands up, completely invading her personal space. Buffy gulps, faced with the physical presence of Spike mere inches from her. The air caught between them pulses with tension.   
  
"Alright then. Shall we?" He looks down at her and Buffy cranes back to meet his gaze. The heat between them has nothing to do with the temperature in the Bronze. She is somewhat startled he agreed so readily and also deliciously pleased. Buffy licks her lips and tugs on him, and Spike follows her to the dance floor. The thought that maybe, just maybe the tequila was making her act a bit, oh what do you call it - brazen, maybe stupid - occurs to her. With a mental wave of her hand, she brushes that thought away. Tasty vampire on the radar screen. Consequences are just little blips she can ignore.  
  
They move together onto the dance floor and all of a sudden, Buffy realizes what she is doing. Dancing with Spike? What the? She goes completely tense and ponders escape routes. But then, his hands. Hands on her waist. But where is...behind her. He's behind her. With only a slight hesitation, Spike pulls her closer, her ass a few short inches from his crotch. Buffy's string of protests blink out of existence when his mouth tickles her ear. "Relax, Slayer. Can't dance if you're holding your breath." She lets it out, all at once. And lets the music in. The throbbing, pulsing beat fills her, starts to move her hips. Spike glances down when he feels his hands swaying with her hips. She swivels in time with the music and he feels a sudden tightening in his jeans as his cock twitches to life. He leans his head back slightly, desperate for some control. Can't help thinking that this night has the potential for all kinds of craziness. But for now, the way the Slayer's hips move under his grip is all he can focus on.   
  
Buffy drifts into the music, letting the effects of the alcohol and the heavy weight of Spike's hands on her waist take her inhibitions down about a dozen notches. Without warning, she steps back into him. Spike hisses as her tight ass comes right up against his hardening cock with a wriggle. Buffy's hands drift up above her head and find their way into his hair. She closes her eyes with a sigh, moving into Spike's embrace more and more. His hands move up her sides, drift up the underside of her arms and back down again. The active mental abilities of both Slayer and vampire experience a sudden blackout in the face of such overwhelming sexual energy.   
  
Spike leans down, brushes his lips against her hair, the edge of her ear. His voice a warm whisper. "Slayer, do you know what you're doing to me?" Buffy rotates in his arms, quickly closing the space again until nothing but their clothes separate the two.   
  
"I've got some idea." She presses just a little harder, fully aware of his currently aroused condition. The darkness in her eyes telegraphs a message of lust that buckles Spike's knees. Somewhere behind the fog of tequila in Buffy's mind, a voice is screaming her name, but it is just an annoyance. A gnat. She doesn't want to stop and no stupid inner voice is going to tell her what to do.   
  
"You're not teasing me, are you?" Spike smirks as his hands travel down her nearly bare back to rest on her butt. The slickness of her skin, coated with a sheen of sweat, is positively intoxicating.   
  
Buffy leans into him, eyes on his mouth and answers in a quiet voice, eyes flicking up to his eyes. "Not teasing if I finish what I start." The spell of the music, the pounding beat, the heat, the alcohol and just plain old horniness is taking its toll on both of them.   
  
She leans a little closer, lips almost brushing. Spike wonders when it became so much more interesting to find her tender spots than her weak spots, but decides not to overthink it. Just then, she freezes. Her eyes bug out and the grip on his arms grows too tight for comfort.   
  
"Ow, Slayer! Bloody hell!"   
  
"Shhh! Oh crap. Crap Crap Crap. Come on." Spike glances the direction she is looking and sees the source of her panic. The Whelp and his ex-demon bird coming through the door. Damn. Buffy is madly yanking on him. "Spike, come on!"   
  
"What for?"   
  
"They will see us!" Buffy pulls harder, but Spike resists.   
  
"So?"   
  
"So? SO?! Do you WANT to be staked? Some kind of dust-wish?"  
  
"What, by the boy? I could take him in a second, luv."   
  
"Hello! Chips ahoy! You can't even slap him!"  
  
Spike pushes out his bottom lip in a mini-pout. "Could, too. Well, you could, anyway."  
  
Buffy bites out her next words in a quick, low voice. "Are you trying to kill me? You are, right? Now that you can't bite me, you want to just drive me so crazy I do myself in? I can't let Xander see me macking all over you! What would I tell him?" Buffy ducks behind Spike as Xander and Anya head to the bar to order. She knows his stupid hair is a beacon in the dark Bronze and they will be seen any second. "I'm supposed to have you tied up at home, not here at the Bronze dancing!"   
  
"Oh, so you want to go back and tie me up again, pet? Why didn't you just say so?" Spike's waggles his eyebrows, watching the Slayer turn an odd shade of purple. Then, that familiar flinty glare makes him sigh. "Fine, fine. Let's go." Spike allows himself to be dragged quickly off the floor and under the stairs just as Xander and Anya move towards a small table with their drinks.   
  
Safely out of sight, Buffy slumps. Against Spike. She starts to pull away, but his hands have a vise grip on her. "What's the rush, luv?"   
  
Buffy realizes she is now in a small dark space with an extremely aroused vampire. Even more frightening is her reaction. She hesitates. Doesn't pull away automatically. She looks up at him, but his eyes are unreadable in the dark. He could make fun of her any second. What if it was all an act out there? What if she was the only one feeling it, whatever it was? Buffy stands up, putting a few inches between them as Spike's hands drop with a sigh. She makes a show of straightening her short skirt, swaying slightly, and looking over towards Xander and Anya.   
  
"That bitch!"   
  
Spike jumps, his frustration briefly forgotten. "What's that, Slayer?"   
  
Turning towards him, she sputters, pointing back towards the couple at the table. She hisses her reply. "She's got my lunchbox!" She spins back around and grabs onto a column for support, leaning against it.   
  
"Huh?" Spike moves up behind Buffy, looking over her shoulder.   
  
"Anya has my molded plastic with thermos included Barbie lunchbox, dammit." Spike frowns as he sees Anya flip open the pink lunchbox and get out a compact to check her makeup.   
  
"The one you lost?"   
  
Buffy's voice is all Slayer. "Didn't lose it. She stole it." Spike can feel the muscles in her back tense. He realizes he can feel this because he is now right up against her back. Again. Since Buffy has gone all one-track, she has not noticed it just yet. Spike glances down at her shoulder. The one he was sure would taste so good. So salty and tender. Before he can stop himself, he feels himself leaning towards the smooth curve of her hot skin and then his lips graze the skin. Perfect.   
  
Buffy goes very still and he feels the anger seep out of her, quickly replaced by something equally dark and powerful. She clutches the column tighter, but she doesn't stop him. Doesn't make a sound. Feeling bolder, Spike kisses her shoulder again, lets his tongue taste her tanned skin. Savors the salt of her sweat on the tip of his tongue before moving up towards her neck. Pushing her hair out of the way carefully, Spike lays an open-mouthed kiss on her neck and is rewarded by a full-body shudder from Buffy.   
  
Her eyes threaten to roll back into her head. His lips should hiss against her searing hot skin. Drops of water on a fire. They vaporize on impact. Just as his mouth moves up her neck, Buffy's eyes come into focus once more.   
  
"Go get it!"   
  
Spike jumps slightly at her rather unorthodox come on line. "Pardon?" He resists the urge to laugh at the flushed Slayer as she spins on him, eyes wide. The mood is broken, once again.  
  
"She left it on the table. Get it."   
  
Spike shakes his head, lust making him foggy. "What?"  
  
Buffy stomps her foot in exasperation. "The lunchbox. Spike, weren't you listening? Look!" She points toward the table and Spike sees she is right. Anya and Xander have moved onto the dance floor and left her lunchbox unattended. "Get it for me!"   
  
"Why? You get it!" Spike crosses his arms, put out by once again being dismissed. This time by a bloody lunchbox.   
  
Buffy juts out her bottom lip. "Can't. I'm all, y'know, tipsy. They would catch me. But you, you're all stealthy." She leans closer on the last word, dragging one finger down Spike's black-clad chest. He breaks instantly.  
  
"Dammit, fine. I'll get it. Meet me in the alley."   
  
Buffy wrinkles her nose. "Eww. The alley?"   
  
"Want we should go out the front door after I steal someone's bag... or box, or whatever?"   
  
Buffy nods. "Good point. Glad you're planning this one. I think...I think that tequila has really gone to my head."   
  
Spike slips out from under the stairs without response. Buffy watches him walk towards the table casually. All the while, he is watching the dancing couple from the corner of his eye. The contents of the box are on the table and the box under his coat before she can blink. She whispers, "Damn. He's good. I mean, bad. He's very bad." A small smile escapes her as she turns and makes for the backdoor behind the stairs.   
  
A minute later, a grinning Spike joins her in the dark alley. He holds out the lunchbox and can't help but laugh as she squeals in pleasure. He could get used to this version of the Slayer. Though it apparently takes a not insubstantial portion of alcohol to reveal her. She hugs the box to her and then marches dramatically up and down the alley, holding the box up in the air, Leaning against the wall, Spike lights up a cigarette, watching. "What's this then, luv?"  
  
Coming to a halt in front of him, Buffy grins goofily, eyes gleaming. "A parade in your honor, of course. My hero."   
  
Normally, he would flinch at being called something so nancy as a hero, but somehow, the unadulterated joy on the Slayer's face makes him remain silent. He even smiles back. "Was nothing, luv. Humans are not too bloody quick, y'know? Didn't even see me."  
  
"Yeah, you were supa fast. Quick like a ... hey, what's that bulge?"   
  
Spike nearly chokes on his cigarette, coughing hard for a minute. When he recovers, he sputters in reply, "Buffy, luv, if you don't know, I don't think I can..."   
  
She interrupts him, reaching inside his duster suddenly. Her hand returns with a nearly full bottle of tequila drawn from the inside pocket. "This bulge! I meant, this one." Buffy flushes bright red as she realizes what made Spike cough. She tries desperately to glance down and see if there was ianother/i bulge, but he is watching her too closely. "Where did you get this?"  
  
Spike grins, taking the bottle from her hand. His voice is playful and deep, giving Buffy all kinds of naughty thoughts. "Told you they didn't see me."  
  
"You stole it!?!"  
  
"Bit louder, Slayer. Don't think everyone in town quite heard you."   
  
She whispers, loudly. "You stole it?"   
  
"Yeah, I nicked it. Thought you might want some more." Buffy is torn between being pleased and indignant. She knows they can't go back in to return it now. Not with Xander and Anya in there, probably realizing the box was gone...  
  
"Oh damn, let's go! They might come out here looking for this!" Buffy holds up the pink box and grabs Spike's arm again.   
  
"Where to, pet?"   
  
"My house! Come on!" Buffy tugs harder, pulling Spike along the alley.   
  
The smirk on his face would melt her panties. "Thought you'd never ask..."  
  
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Author's Note: Thanks for the feedback on this fic so far! I'm going to update my user profile with some more ways to keep up with my fics (LJ, e-mail updates), so check it out if you are interested! Thanks! -Tiana :) 


	9. Chapter 9: Is that a Stake in your Pocke...

  
  
Chapter 9: Is that a Stake in your Pocket Or... ?  
  
A few blocks later, Spike calls to Buffy. "Luv, I really think it's safe to slow down now, don't you?" She still has his hand in a death grip, the pink lunchbox swinging from her other hand as she runs. At his words, she slows down and finally stops.   
  
Face lightly flushed from the alcohol and excitement...and maybe something else, Buffy looks back the way they came. No one is on the street. "Guess you're right. Doesn't look they followed us."   
  
"Probably didn't bloody well notice yet, pet. "And they certainly didn't see me. Much too clever for that."   
  
Buffy smirks up at him, forgetting for the hundredth time tonight that she violently dislikes this vampire. Possibly because she no longer does. He's much more interesting than she thought. Oh, and impossibly hot. That helps.   
  
"Yeah. Guess it's safe. Um..." Buffy nibbles on her bottom lip, shooting glances at Spike. He half expects her to draw little circles on the ground with her toe. "...so, I just wanted to say... y'know, thanks. For getting my lunchbox back." She looks up at him a little longer this time, smiling hesitantly.  
  
Spike is startled by her sudden sincerity. It's very unexpected. And he's quite sure the Slayer has never thanked him for anything. "No problem, Slayer." He wants to say why he did it, but he is not altogether sure himself. Something to do with her smile and the light in her eyes when she looked at him before they danced. Made him want to do anything to keep it going. The way she is looking at him right now is not bad, either. Thoughts of teasing or pissing the Slayer off this weekend have officially and permanently migrated into much more naughty territory.   
  
Feeling self-conscious, Buffy lowers her eyes again. From the corner of her vision, she sees something quite strange. Her hand. Her hand still wrapped around Spike's. The realization that the two of them are standing in the middle of a street holding hands hits her. Her eyes back on Spike's are a little wider as she quickly releases him. When she lets go, Spike realizes they were holding hands, too. The fact they were both too comfortable to notice it is probably the part that freaks them both the most.   
  
The silence is awkward and almost physically painful. Buffy tries to look everywhere but at Spike and wishes she could regain the easy fun they were sharing just minutes ago. And maybe some more of that intense groping, too. Spike also keeps his eyes down to the street.   
  
All of a sudden, Spike jerks his head up. Before she can react, he shoves Buffy to the side, hard. Stumbling off her high-heeled sandals, Buffy hits the pavement. "Hey!" Her tone is indignant until she sees why he pushed her. And realizes he's not where he was a few seconds ago. The vampire who was clearly about to tackle Buffy is on top of Spike on the pavement a few feet away. Buffy, head swimming with tequila, decides against standing up quickly and instead crawls over to the fracas.   
  
"Get off him! I'm the only one that gets to tackle Spike!" Spike pauses in his struggle to look over at Buffy, eyebrows raised. Just then, the other vampire connects with a sharp left to Spike's face.   
  
"Bloody hell!"   
  
Buffy blushes as she realizes what she said and that it just got Spike punched. "Sorry!" She thinks to herself that helping would be a good idea. With a good wind-up swing, she clocks the vampire across the cheek with her Barbie lunchbox. A resounding whack echoes as plastic meets bone. The vamp goes flying off Spike, landing next to him on the street. Setting her lunchbox down carefully, Buffy notices the bottle of tequila also sitting on the street and wonders when the hell he had time to put it down there out of harm's way. Buffy reaches Spike and sticks her hand in his duster, rummaging inside.   
  
"Whoa, luv! Don't you think we better take care of our friend over there first?" Spike gestures towards the prone vampire next to him, who is quickly recovering from being smacked.   
  
Ignoring his question, Buffy pulls out her intended target - a stake. "Aha! I knew you'd have one of these in there. And here I thought you were just happy to see me." With a quick wink to a speechless Spike, Buffy lunges over him to stake the not-quite-recovered vamp with a flourish. "HA! That'll teach ya to jump MY vampire. Or um, me. Teach you to...jump me." Buffy's victorious taunting slows as she takes in her new position. Sprawled across Spike, butt in the air. She considers a quick scrambling retreat until she feels something quite hard under her stomach. Now ithat's/i not a stake in his pocket. Spike sees her wide-eyed reaction as she wiggles a little and he has to bite his lip nearly in half to keep from moaning. His hand comes to rest on the back of her knee and Buffy shudders slightly from the coolness meeting her heated skin. Without making eye contact, she lifts herself slightly up by bracing her hands on the ground. Spike's hand slides up her leg to the back of her thigh as she changes position. Buffy feels her heart racing in her chest. Finally, she turns her head to meet his eyes. Light from a nearby streetlight casts sharp shadows across his face and she can't make out his expression. But, the hand. The hand on her leg is curving toward her inner thigh and Buffy tenses suddenly. He freezes. "We should...move."  
  
"Was moving." His voice is deep and tender at once.  
  
Buffy gulps, willing his hand to keep inching, but knowing she should not will it so. "Off the street. We're in the street, Spike."  
  
Looking around, Spike sighs. "Yeah. Guess we are."   
  
A few moments pass and neither one moves. "Um, Slayer?"  
  
"Yes?"   
  
"I could move more easily if you weren't on top of me."  
  
"OH! Oh yes! Of course, I...I'll get right up." In Buffy's efforts to get up, Spike's hand ends up on her butt for a few seconds, which makes her jump as if electrocuted. "I'm UP!" And in the next few seconds, she is standing, wobbling a bit on her heels, cheeks flushed high and hot.   
  
Spike sits up on his elbows, glancing at her skirt, hiked up to the point of near indecency and muttering to himself. "Yeah, me too."   
  
"What's that?"   
  
"Nothing." Spike gets to his feet, brushing off the duster and trying to hide the telltale bulge in his pants. Nothing like full body contact to get the motor running.   
  
Buffy watches Spike quietly, her body still tingling from feeling him under her. The hardness of him, the firmness of his muscular body below hers. The feel of his hand sliding against her skin further and further upward. The unmistakable erection. And her reaction to all of it. Her chest heaving, temperature rising, skin twitching reaction to it.   
  
Not to mention the fact that he just saved her life.   
  
"Wait a minute. You just saved my life."  
  
Spike looks distinctly uncomfortable. "Nah, I just knew you didn't...you aren't...with the drinking. And I caught his scent. Just a reaction, luv."   
  
Buffy grins at him. The reluctant hero. She knows this is putting a real smear on his badass image to help the Slayer. Luckily, the only other witness is a pile of dust at their feet. She leans closer to him, hesitates as she comes within an inch of his face, but continues on. Lightly, she brushes her lips across his cheek and leans back. "Thanks for reacting, then."   
  
Without waiting for his reaction, Buffy leans over to get her lunchbox, nearly flashing the neighborhood, including Spike, when she does. While down there, she picks up the bottle of tequila as well. Handing it to Spike, who is standing very still, she smirks. "Wouldn't want to forget this, would we?" She puts it in his hand and starts walking down the street, an extra sway in her hips. It might be the booze talking, but she wants to have that reaction again. Feel him beneath her again. Only maybe with less clothes this time. Noticing Spike is not next to her, she turns and continues walking backwards, facing Spike. Lunchbox swinging by her side, she crooks her finger at the blond vamp.   
  
Recovering quickly from staring intently at her tight ass and from the warm sensation on his cheek where she kissed him, Spike moves forward in a blur. He falls into step next to her, neither saying a word.  
  
Buffy's mind is screaming again, wondering why she is flirting with Spike and why she is thinking of him in positions most inappropriate to the Slayer-vampire dynamic. She hesitates, considering if this voice is correct. Only it feels so good to touch him and he is making it so easy to look at him in a different light.  
  
Spike takes a quick look at the Slayer and tries to figure out when her face ceased to aggravate him and began to make him want to shag her. Well, truth be told, he may have always wanted to shag her, but now he doesn't want to kill her afterwards, after all. Might want to keep her around. He grimaces slightly, thinking this is an impossible scenario. One that could not end well. And might just end dusty. Just as he decides it will be better if he keeps his distance from this Slayer, he feels something warm on his arm. Her hand.   
  
Buffy meets his eyes for just a second as she curls her hand into his elbow and keeps walking. Spike takes his pile of concerns and shoves them in the back of his head, safely away from logic and other reason.   
  
After a few more blocks of quiet walking, they reach the front porch of Buffy's house. Retrieving a key from somewhere in her tight dress, Buffy steps into the dark house and Spike follows. She reaches around him and closes the door behind, bringing herself quite close to Spike in the process. The silence is palpable as Buffy adjusts to the darkness in the hallway. Spike can see right away and finds himself reaching out slowly with a hand to touch Buffy's cheek. Right before he makes contact, she moves away quickly toward the kitchen.   
  
Her voice nervous and light, she calls back, "So, are you thirsty, Spike? I've got blood in the fridge." Spike stands still for a moment, shaking his head. She's scared. Well, she's got a right to be. This is very bizarre behavior for both of them. Supposed to be at each other's throats, not planning ways to get naked. He follows her into the kitchen.   
  
Spike arrives to find the refrigerator door open with Buffy rummaging inside it. Her butt shimmies at him in a most intriguing way. His voice causes her to stand up quickly and peer around the door at him. The sight that greets her makes her mouth go slightly dry.   
  
Lounging against the door frame, black leather draping him, mouth twisted in a devilish grin, Spike holds up the bottle of tequila. "The question, luv, is whether iyou/i are thirsty. I'm willing to share."  
  
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Author's Note: Thanks for the feedback on this fic! Hope ya like this chapter! - Ti :) 


	10. Chapter 10: Kiss and Make it Better?

Chapter 10: Kiss and Make It Better?

* * *

Buffy stares at Spike, eyes darting from the bottle to his face down his body and back again in a loop that starts to make her wobble. She swallows before finally answering. "Yes. Thirsty." She smacks herself in the forehead - in her mind - for her Me Tarzan You Jane reply. "I mean, yes, I'm thirsty, too." She furrows her brow and looks back in the refrigerator. Spike hears drawers opening and closing inside as he continues to watch her scantily clad rear wiggle. "YES!" Buffy stands up straight, startling Spike into jerking his eyes to her face. Noticing her arm is held up triumphantly, he glances up to her hand to see two lemons. She smacks them down on the counter. "These will work just as well as limes, right?"

Spike's smile is slow and delicious as he swaggers into the kitchen and sets the bottle down on the island next to the lemons. "Will work just fine, love. Do you have any shot glasses?"

Buffy squinches up her face in an exaggerated thinking posture, finger tapping on her chin. Suddenly, her face lights up. "No, but I have these!" She scurries over to a cabinet, her heels click clacking on the linoleum. Reaching up into the cabinet, hiking her skirt up to an indecent level, she pulls down two small juice glasses. Showing these to Spike, she raises her eyebrows. "Yes?"

"Yes." Buffy bites her bottom lip. She decides she really likes how it sounds when Spike says 'yes.' Almost immediately, she thinks of other situations in which she would like to hear him saying - okay, yelling - yes. Spike cocks his head at her as the red flush races up into her cheeks with no warning. He tries to figure out what he said or did this time. And how he could do it again.

Remembering she was in the middle of something, Buffy stops thinking about Spike naked for just a few seconds. She points at the items in turn. "Okay. Tequila. Lemons. Glasses. We need..." She glances around. "Salt!" She grabs the salt shaker near the stove and adds it to the group.

Spike watches Buffy, thinking he is getting to see the Slayer in a way he never has before. Playful, sexy. He is almost nervous about how attracted he is to her. Almost. Mostly just turned on as hell.

He blinks when Buffy yanks her latest needed item from a drawer and brandishes it a bit too happily.

"Um, a big knife? We need that?" Spike takes one step back.

"For the lemons, silly." Buffy smiles, wide and unabashed. Sticking her tongue out to one side in concentration, she corrals a lemon and starts to cut it before Spike can grab it away. "OWWWWW!"

Buffy drops the knife and sticks her finger directly into her mouth. Eyes wide, she hops up and down. Spike jumps forward quickly, the scent of blood sharp in his nose.

"Bloody hell, woman. You're half-drunk, you shouldn't be using a knife!" Spike decides his extreme concern is a fluke. Otherwise, it would indicate some deeper feeling for the Slayer besides lust and that is not admissible to his brain. Thankfully, the distressed Slayer is an excellent distraction from such thoughts. He reaches her, pushes the knife out of the way on the island and puts his hands on her arms, making her stop bouncing up and down. "There, now. Let me see. Do I need to take you to hospital or what?" Buffy, startled by the obvious worry in his voice, forgets the sharp pain for a second and withdraws her finger from her mouth at his gentle tugging. She shows it to him, eyes averted.

"Is it bad? Is my finger hanging off?" Buffy avoids looking as Spike takes her hand in his to study her wound.

"Well, it's bleeding, pet. But it's firmly attached." Spike injects a little merriment in his voice, and feels what he can only describe as relief. It's only a small slice in the tip of her finger.

"Oh thank god. I thought I - OH!" Buffy whips her head back towards Spike at the sensation shooting up her arm, electrifying her. The intensity of his eyes only serves to freeze her in place. "Wha - what are you doing?" His mouth has descended to her injured finger and as he brushes his lips against the tip again, she gasps. Not in pain, but in sudden and sharp arousal.

Spike's gaze is unwavering. "Just a little kiss to make it better, eh, love?" There is mischief in his baby blues and Buffy feels her smile match his. "Is it better, Slayer?"

"Yeah." Her voice is nearly a breath. "But, uh, maybe one more to make it _all_ better. Safe side and all."

Spike doesn't answer, just lowers his mouth to her finger, the taste of her blood on his lips sweet like honey. Without really thinking it through, he slides her finger into his mouth, sucking lightly. The blood of a Slayer is too much for him to resist. Especially when it is this particular Slayer in front of him, chest rising and falling a bit too fast, skin a bit too warm and eyes open just a bit too wide.

Buffy feels herself drawn closer to him, mesmerized by the warm wet feel of his mouth on her finger. The intimacy of it brings her within inches and her other hand lifts to rest against his chest, palm flat. It's both to steady herself and just to touch him. She really wants to touch him. Her fingertips dig into his shirt when she feels his tongue swirl around the finger before withdrawing it. The cool air strikes her wet skin, making her jump. The cut has stopped bleeding already.

"Better?" Spike licks his top lip and Buffy can do nothing but watch. She nods, lowering her finger and drawing on a reserve of will she thought empty to just step back from him. Neither one is willing or completely ready to cave into the sensations of their bodies. Yet.

Spike steps to the side of Buffy and picks up the knife again. Wiping it clean with a kitchen towel, he starts slicing the lemons into wedges as Buffy recovers from the moment that just passed between them.

Her brain screeches from one reaction to another, settling on nonchalant. Yeah, she thinks she can pull that one off. Of course, she's also fairly drunk, so her judgment is not top-notch. She leans casually on the kitchen island, watching Spike wield the large knife with ease.

"Aren't you drunk?"

"Me, pet? No. Maybe a little...touched, but not drunk. Not like you." Spike grins, continuing to cut.

"Am not!" Buffy stands up straight, realizing that while leaning on the island she was flashing Spike a view straight down her dress. So much for nonchalant.

"Whatever you say, love. Shall we?"

She answers a bit too quickly. "Shall we what?"

Spike grabs the bottle and the glasses and gestures to the lemons and salt shaker, ignoring her question for the moment. "Grab the lemons and salt, will you, Buffy?" Buffy feels the ripple of excitement over her skin when he says her name. She won't admit it, but just hearing him say it is nearly orgasmic. "Um, Buffy?"

"Right, but what shall we...what? Uh. What?" Spike chuckles, loving the way words tangle up in her mouth, the tequila sending them every which way.

"Thought we might tuck into this bottle somewhere " Buffy stifles a reaction, her mind flashing visions of bodies in bed and all sorts of naughty activities. Spike gestures toward the living room with the bottle. "The couch?"

Buffy's mind switches to entangled limbs on the couch with ease. Biting her lip and reining in her hormones, Buffy manages a smile.

"Sure, sounds good. I'll just grab something for the lemon wedges, 'kay?" Finally finding her false nonchalance, Buffy smiles and makes for the cabinet, mentally encouraging Spike to go into the other room. It works. He struts out of the room, all leather and bad and she watches him go over her shoulder. Buffy darts over to the freezer and whips it open, sticking her face into the freezing air. She breathes hard, trying to bring down her temperature. Digging around in the ice cube tray, she takes a cube and rubs it up the nape of her neck, around her neck and down her cleavage. The goosebumps come up immediately as the ice melts rapidly against her heated skin. When she feels like she will not tackle Spike on sight, she chucks the ice cube in the sink, closes the freezer and straightens herself out. Adjusting her dress and wiping off excess water with a dishtowel, Buffy takes a few deep breaths. Glancing around, she finds a small bowl and drops the wedges in it. Salt shaker and bowl in hand, she walks slowly and calmly toward the living room.

All her work cooling down goes right out the window when she sees him again. Buffy can remember just this morning when seeing him just made her want to punch him and now...well, it can't all be the tequila. Some underlying attraction is just rising to the surface. The punching was maybe a good way to push that away, to push him away before her weakness was revealed. Whatever she felt about Spike before, the only thing she can feel right now is wanting. She wants him. No matter how wrong, no matter how stupid. No matter the consequences. Whether she contains that want or even tries to, is the $100,000 question of the evening.

Right now the answer is no. No containing, no resisting.

Spike has shed his duster and is sitting on the couch, stretched out. Booted feet on the coffee table, arms folded behind his neck, entire black-clad body on display, sleek and trim. Her mouth goes dry, taking the few seconds before he opens his eyes to take as much in as possible. He sits up when he sees her, gaze appreciative over the curves of her body. The way her dress clings to her in all the right places makes him wonder what all those right places would look like without the dress in the way. Buffy hesitates, nibbling her bottom lip. He smiles and she smiles back, heart pounding. Finally, decision clearly made, she strides in, and going right for the couch, sits next to him. Right next to him. So close Spike can feel her body's warmth.

She sets down the bowl and the salt shaker next to the other items on the coffee table. Without meeting Spike's eyes, she uncaps the bottle and pours two shots. She passes one to Spike, along with a lemon wedge. Taking one for herself, Buffy brings her hand up to her mouth to lick it. Just as her tongue starts to slide over her hot skin, her eyes flick to his. He is watching her, watching every movement she makes and her temperature kicks up to supernova. She shakes the salt on her hand and passes the shaker to Spike.

She stares at his tongue and then the salt sticking to his wet skin. Her designs on the vampire across from her start to coalesce in her mind. So much for restraint. Spike holds up his glass to Buffy, in a toast.

"Bottoms up, love." He licks the salt and tips the glass into his mouth right as she answers him.

"Maybe later." With a wicked grin, she takes her salt and throws her shot back as Spike sputters and chokes. Eyes watering, he wipes his mouth and looks at her.

"What - what did you say?" Spike narrows his eyes a little as Buffy removes the lemon from her mouth and licks her lips. She pours another shot into his glass and into hers before answering.

"Hmm? About what?" Buffy licks her hand again, drawing Spike's attention. He feels his cock stir, responding to her. She smirks at him, the recent shot of tequila making her tingle. Making her more brazen by the second. Shaking the salt on her own hand first, she passes it over.

Shaking his head with a chuckle, Spike quickly licks the side of his hand and shakes salt on it. Buffy holds up her glass, preparing to take the shot. Spike starts to bring his hand up to lick the salt off when he notices something. Buffy's hand on his wrist, stopping him. His eyes dart to hers, confused. His whole body tenses when she leans forward, never breaking eye contact. The tip of her tongue grazes his skin and Spike nearly drops his glass. She flattens her tongue, taking in all the salt from his hand in one sweep. Sitting back, she tips the glass to him before taking the shot quickly. Buffy sucks the lemon wedge quickly and tosses it to the table.

"Thanks." Her voice, dripping with sensuality sends waves of arousal through Spike. His hand is still frozen in the air where she licked him. He shakes his head, clearing it. His own tongue darts out, wrapping around his front teeth as he grins at her. So, baby is ready to play.

Buffy feels the playing field start to level. They both want, they're both willing to throw the rules out the window. Game on.

Spike grabs her wrist in his hand, pulling her hand to him. The salt is still there, waiting. Licking his lips, he leans closer, his tongue brushing her skin.

Buffy gasps quietly, her nipples hardening. "Um, Spike...the salt is - oh! - on my hand..."

Spike lifts his mouth from her shoulder to answer. "Getting there, pet." She sits straight up as his tongue drags down her arm, stopping every few inches to kiss her skin, soft and wet. She shivers, a fresh wave of goosebumps covering her arms and legs. Finally, after what seems like hours, he reaches her hand. With one very slow motion, he takes up the salt, curling his tongue into his mouth, eyes closed.

"You taste bloody fantastic, Slayer." Buffy whimpers involuntarily, wanting his tongue to find other places to taste. And soon. He watches her breaths shorten, watching him closely as he finally takes the shot and sucks the lemon wedge.

Holding up the bottle, he raises his eyebrows. "More, love?"

Buffy's hand shoots out with her glass in hand.

"Oh god, yes." With a chuckle, Spike starts to pour.

* * *

Author's Note: I know, it's been a loooong time since I updated this fic! I hope there are folks out there who remember it. :) Reviews are hugely appreciated! -Ti


	11. Chapter 11: Show, Don't Tell

Chapter 11: Show, Don't Tell

* * *

"So, I had this idea, love."

Buffy raises an eyebrow, trying to ignore how Spike has taken on a nice blurry quality in front of her. "Let's hear it."

Turned to face Spike on the couch, one leg tucked under her, Buffy leans a little closer. So close Spike catches a fresh taste of her jasmine perfume. She rests the full shot glass on her bare thigh, her shorter than short skirt barely covering her. Spike notes her finger circling the glass edge, slowly. He licks his lips, ripping his eyes from her tanned legs back to her expectant face.

Spike cocks his head slightly to the side, a little smile touching his mouth. Truth be told, despite his cool exterior, he is barely holding himself back from drooling all over the Slayer. Her scent, her eyes, her flirting...her tongue...it's all becoming more tempting than he ever could have thought. He realizes every step he takes further is a risk. At any moment, the Slayer could decide to live up to her title. But since he is a touch on the reckless side, he is moving forward.

"More of a...show, not tell idea. You up for it?"

"Are you?" Her rapid fire response and quick glance to his crotch make Spike's smile.

"Yeah, love, I am." His slow, deliberate response makes Buffy's eyes want to trail downwards once again.

Spike slides closer to Buffy on the couch, their knees bumping each other. Buffy's breath catches in her throat, not from the contact, but from the look he gives her. Her vision slips into focus at the gleam in his blue eyes, their gaze dancing down over her face, her neck, her bare shoulders. She feels nearly naked under his perusal and almost jumps out of her burning skin when his hand lands on her knee. Buffy suddenly feels very nervous. She wonders for the eighty-second time tonight what she has gotten herself into with Spike.

"Oh! What - what are you - " Spike leans closer and Buffy almost instinctively leans away. His hand squeezes her leg lightly and she hesitates, stops moving back. Spike's tongue quickly wets his bottom lip, eyes moving from Buffy's mouth to her eyes quickly. She holds her breath, waiting for him to make a move. And trying to decide in her tequila-addled mind what she will do when he does.

His voice is low, soft. "Open your mouth."

Buffy blinks. "Huh? No!"

"Come on, love. Trust me?"

"Not even a little bit."

Spike laughs, but doesn't move out of Buffy's personal space. His hand slides up her thigh, fingers sliding around her hand and the still full shot glass sitting there. Buffy's fingers twitch under his, her eyes jerking back to his face.

"It's just a shot, Slayer. Won't hurt you." He tilts his head slightly to the side. Spike's voice drops, roughens. "Now. Open. Your. Mouth."

Buffy's mouth almost falls open from the force of his words alone. The intensity of his look and the feel of his finger lightly pressing against her bottom lip makes her mouth come open, just a bit. His finger moves away and Buffy's eyes slide closed. The room is closing in on her, all warm and close. She is startled out of her thoughts and her eyes pop open as something cool and waxy touches her mouth. Buffy makes a startled noise around the lemon wedge which is now trapped between her lips.

Spike smiles. "Patience, pet. Patience." And without so much as a warning, Spike closes the distance between them in a heartbeat and the next sensation is his tongue sliding slowly up her neck, leaving a trail of cool moisture behind. Buffy feels her nipples harden and her belly flip flop, everything reacting at once to the sudden sensation. She tilts her neck slightly to the side at the pressure of his tongue and moans low in her throat as Spike nuzzles her ear. He moves back and a strange tickling sensation on her neck finally crystallizes his plan in her mind. She blames the tequila coursing through her for not picking up on it quicker. A surge of moisture between her legs as she realizes he is going to be licking her neck again in a mere moment.

And then he is, his hand on her opposite shoulder as his tongue drags so slow time drags along with it. Buffy swears she can hear the rasp as his tongue collects the trail of salt from her neck. The fingers twined with hers on her shot glass pull the glass free and Spike leaves her neck long enough to take the shot. Buffy's brain struggles to keep up and realizes what is about to happen right as Spike's lip brush hers and he takes the lemon from her mouth with his own.

Buffy sits very still, trying to rein in her hormones as they take over, flooding her senses, draining her impulse control and sending a warm flush all over her body. Spike sits back, observing as he finishes sucking the lemon and drops it on the table.

"Bloody delicious, love." He licks his fingers of the lemon juice and smiles at her.

Buffy blushes fiercely under Spike's hot appraisal, her skin still wet from his tongue, her lips tingling from the lemon and his brief kiss.

The litany repeating in Buffy's brain alternates between i Holy shit, that was hot i/ to i What the hell am I doing letting Spike lick me/i Somehow, it gets compressed to i That was hot when I was letting Spike lick me /i which pleases her inner vixen ever so much more than the protestations.

That same inner vixen takes charge of Buffy's mouth in the next instant. "Strange how you took the shot and i my /i head is buzzing, isn't it?"

Spike's eyebrows shoot up in surprise at Buffy's words. He doesn't answer, just stares at her, eyes dark with increasing lust. The balance of power keeps tipping back and forth between the two of them at an alarming rate. Buffy leans over to the table, coming dangerously close to showing Spike just how bare she is under her tiny black dress. She picks up the bottle and fills the shot glass there with a splash. She grins at Spike in a most disarming way while grabbing the salt shaker.

"My turn, I believe?"

Spike cocks his head at her slightly. "That it is, love."

Buffy holds up the salt shaker, giving it a little shimmy. "So." She gives him the once over. "Where do you want it?"

He chokes and splutters, not expecting those words to come out of her pretty little mouth. Recovering slightly, he manages to answer her. "Oh Slayer, I don't think I should answer that. I like all my limbs firmly attached."

Buffy mock-pouts at Spike. "Guess I'll have to pick, then. That okay with you?"

"Very."

"Hmm." Buffy looks Spike over, inch by inch. Her eyes pause on particularly tempting locations, making Spike's mouth go dry. She taps her finger on her chin in exaggerated thought before raising it in the air and proclaiming her instructions. "Lie back."

Spike doesn't even reply, just lies back, head propped against the armrest of the couch. Buffy laughs at his prompt reaction and he joins her, but falls quickly silent as she arranges his legs. One foot on the floor, the other leg stretched down the couch and Buffy sitting between them. Spike holds very still. "About time you learned to listen to me, Spike." Buffy continues where her body tells her to, her mind having long since left the building. Surprisingly enough, her heart is weighing in by thumping wildly in her chest. She has been trained to follow her instincts when fighting, every decision a reaction, a reading of events to come. But to let her instincts take over like this, with this vampire...well, there's a reason her mind gave up and left. It doesn't make sense, but damn if it doesn't feel exactly right.

And as her hand with the salt shaker comes to rest on Spike's thigh, she's not surprised to learn that i he /i feels exactly right, too. The muscle contracts under her small hand and Spike waits to see where the other hand is heading. Buffy hovers her right hand over Spike's waist before pushing his shirt, slowly and then more rapidly, revealing more and more of his firm ivory skin, stretched tight over impressive abs. Her smile of appreciation shows she likes what she sees, likes what she feels.

As her hot little hand runs up and over and around his lower torso, Spike tries to contain himself, reminding himself that this is Buffy's turn. He is to comply, not to take control. Looking at her face, adorably drawn in concentration as she lets her fingers do the walking, he realizes there is no other person he would more happily comply to at this moment.

Then there is also the eons old vampire proverb: 'Never piss off a Slayer.' He has never taken to that one himself, but he's willing to try anything once.

Buffy's index finger finds the groove running down the center of his chest and abs, ending in his belly button. She breathes out one word. "There." And in a move as fast as his and before he can really react, she is on him. Or rather, her tongue is on him, starting at his belly button and dragging upwards, heating his skin with her mouth and tongue.

Spike holds very still, feeling the blood in his body rush downward in a hurry. His eyes slide closed as Buffy's tongue finally lifts from his skin, leaving a cool trail down his stomach. He can feel the light tickle of salt dropping on his skin as she re-traces the line. The anticipation makes his skin twitch over his muscles, fingers itching to grab her.

Buffy sits back on her knees, studying Spike. Her mind tries to return to the game, warring thoughts over what she is doing reach a fever pitch before she shuts them out again by grabbing a lemon wedge from the table. One hand still planted on his thigh, clutching the shot glass, Buffy leans over Spike, her mouth soon hovering just above his. She breathes out his name quietly. "Spike."

"Yea - ahghk!" Buffy giggles at Spike, the lemon wedge now stuck between his lips.

Sitting back again, Buffy gives Spike a wide smile. "Now this i is /i a sight. The Big Bad completely vulnerable to the Slayer's charms...what would all the other creatures of the night think of you now, hmm?"

Before he can answer, Buffy's tongue dips into his belly button, collecting the first grains of salt and moving upwards with slow determination. She moves her hands to plant them on either side of Spike's head, careful not to spill the shot. Spike's hands fly up to grab her upper arms, his cock swelling in reaction to her attentions. It occurs to him that the Slayer is not going to snap out of this. She is not going to suddenly stake him or send him back to the basement. She is actually enjoying herself. She wants him. And in return, he realizes with the force of a blow to the head that he wants her too. Not just for kicks, not just to see how far she'll go, but because he i wants /i her like a drug. He has to have her. Craves her. Wants to know how she tastes, how she feels moving under him, what sounds she will make when she comes.

He wants it all.

"Lick." Her word is a whisper. Spike feels her mouth lift from his skin and a pause where he figures she takes the shot. "Drink." In the next second, Spike's eyes fly open as he feels Buffy's body flatten against his. Her fingers snatch the lemon wedge out of his mouth and throw it to the floor. Before he can ask what is going on, her mouth crashes down on his, warm and moist. He hears a clunk behind the couch and realizes she dropped the shot glass. The strong tang of the tequila burns his tongue as Buffy pushes his mouth open with her insistent lips. As he feels her draw his tongue into her mouth and gently suck on it, his hands fly up to grab her hips, just in time to feel them grind against his. Spike's grip tightens until he hears Buffy pull away. "And suck."

"Slayer...what are you...not that I'm complaining, mind you. But I think you got the shot thing wrong."

Her words brush against his face, warm air and the faint scent of alcohol flavoring them. "No, I really don't think I did." Buffy moves her mouth to Spike's cheek, brushing her lips there before taking his earlobe between her lips. "I just thought you might taste better than the lemon."

She sucks his lobe into her mouth, hard. Spike gasps a little as she speaks again. "I was right."

* * *

Author's Note: Wow, it's been a loooong time since I posted an update to this fic. I have been writing lots of short Spuffy fics, but not posting them here - just on my site and LJ. Anyway, hope you enjoy this one! I'll try to do better and update more often :) Tiana 


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